


Fools of us All

by TheOV



Series: Twisting Timelines [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/F, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-01-29 16:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 79,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12635106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOV/pseuds/TheOV
Summary: Formerly titled: 'Life is Still Strange" A year and some change later, there are some questions Max doesn't want to ask and even more she hopes Chloe never asks of her. It's all they can do to keep their home and all she can do to breathe. In the end, she has everything she needs. Just Chloe.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't even care to find any recognition or proliferation for this fic. Just needed to get this idea out of my head. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Edit: Since I vomited this out at the speed of light yesterday, I've gone over and done the most basic form of editing. This is still the very skeleton of a draft of a story, but I feel well enough about it now to let it lie.

Max felt a tired ache settle into her back as she leaned slightly around her camera and observed her subject. Her lips curled into what she hoped was a convincing smile that minimized the circles under her eyes, making her slightly less terrifying to the small girl on the stool in front of her. Off to the side, the child’s parents made an exceptionally large display out of checking their watches and tapping their feet. The family was all dressed in nice clothing, though most of it looked excessively expensive for the sake of a portrait for a kid’s birthday. The father (whose suit alone looked like it might have cost about as much as a month of her rent) ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, a sure sign his irritation was growing. She wasn’t entirely sure what had them in such a piss poor mood, but she was bound to find out in short order.

 

“Alright, big smile, Melissa,” the halfhearted concern that she might have mistaken the girl’s name faded as she snapped the second photo. To the redhead’s credit she did not have her parents’ poor attitudes or looks of frustration, just the large, innocent smile of a kid (one who maybe was just told they were being taken out for ice cream.) Some days that kind of look was sweet and made an honest (if laughable) attempt at warming her. Other times, like today, it just made her shiver and drew the voice of a dead man from the depths of her memories. She spoke over Jefferson’s voice in her own head. “Just like that! You’re doing fine. Now, just one more.”

 

“Oh, come on. We’ve been here fifteen minutes already! How much time does it take to take three photos? Point and click! It’s so easy an idiot could do it.” She glanced sideways from behind her camera toward the father and perhaps she was not so successful in hiding her emotions behind her smile or perhaps simply responding was invitation enough but the man took it as a signal. Straightening his tie for no reason she could guess at, the late forty-something tore into her. “Now, you listen here. We brought you business because my brother suggested you were talented. You are otherwise not very noteworthy. A nobody. I did not come to have my time wasted or have shitty looks thrown my way. If you cannot do your job in a timely fashion, do not advertise for it.”

 

“ **Relax, I own this school. I could probably blow it up if I wanted to,” he said, staring into the mirror, probably thinking of his distant fucking father. The beatings, the insults, the fucking druggings. He thought he was above everyone, everything and didn’t bother to hide it. Of course he didn’t; his father owned that town, right? He was a tiny powertrip in human form with a side of psychosis. The one thing his father wouldn’t let him have was the one thing he needed, help. In the end, he preceeded the old man to the grave, not that Sean Prescott had any clue. He died thinking his son was safe at school, a school that was his, a school he owned, ran, where he was free from any consequences to his actions.**

 

“Smile, Melissa,” she called cheerfully. Oblivious to her father’s cruelty, the little girl did just that. The snap of the shutter and the resulting flash cleared the air and the last photo was done perhaps five minutes after the girl sat down, contrary to her parents’ protestations. A great deal of drama was made about the mother picking her daughter up and spiriting her from the room. Max stood with dead eyes and a paper smile, listening to abuse, to threats to ruin her reputation in the city if she didn’t cut him a deal and worse. In the end, after another five minutes the man stalked off having been charged the full price. Max didn’t expect any further referrals from this family.

 

Max sat on her tiny, rented studio’s floor and indulged in something like thirty seconds of tears followed by thirty minutes of staring at the opposite wall before a voice whispered to her that she probably ought to get home before the sun started going down. Slowly, she rose to her feet. Her knees didn’t hurt like her back did but very little attention would have been paid to it even if they did. Most of her focus, most of her remaining give a damn went to making sure that anything expensive was packed away and lights were turned out. Flipping the sign to ‘Closed’ was less important than an afterthought, but at least she remembered.

 

Pulling her key from the lock, Max adjusted the ragged jeans, wearing thin in the knees and set about toward home with her messenger bag slung across both shoulders. It was easy to tune out the streets, the people and the cars. In part, none of them managed to unnerve her anymore even in a neighborhood that was shitty enough for she and Chloe to be able to afford. Of course, it could also be in part because she was only outside long enough to climb the set of stairs to the second floor of the studio where their tiny apartment awaited.

 

Fairly certain she had caught a flash of pink-tinged blue hair passing the front of the building as her last customers of the day entered, Max didn’t bother to reach for her keys. Sure enough the door was unlocked when she turned the knob and stepped in to the smell of skunk weed and—far more attractive—burgers cooking. Chloe called her name from just to her left in the open kitchen but Max didn’t react at first, needing a moment to exhale as she kicked her converse off. She figured it likely she was free of the puffy red eyes that would evidence the less stable elements of her emotional state so she forced her expression into something resembling neutrality turned toward the kitchen, a soft smile curling one side of her lips.

 

“There’s my girl,” Chloe quipped. “You were taking a bit of time, so I figured I’d get dinner started. Something simple.” It took some effort to bring her face into focus but a feeling that seemed a hybrid of a lump in the throat and a jolt of relief was the reward, a welcome boon on a dull, numb day. Though Chloe was never the one to show signs that might be interpreted as precognition, the taller woman seemed just close enough to psychic to drop the spatula in her hand on the counter as Max crossed the room. The other hand, halfway to her mouth with a joint pulled back and went wide until Max was firmly pressed against her and encircled in her arms. “Whoa, hey.”

 

**The fucking thing is, here I am with support. She puts in all these hours, goes through all this shit and I’m still the one who needs her support. Sometimes I hate it. I wonder if this is what Kate felt like on the roof. There I was and there she was and I bet she hated the idea that she needed help. She seemed a little angry when I tried, at first. Maybe just offended at the idea that I _could_ help her, at my hubris. I was so relieved when I slung the bullshit that got her to take my hand, to come down. When she collapsed beside me, when she was at her most vulnerable, I was practically singing because I had done it, she was alive. I was so self-absorbed. Then I visited her at the hospital and asked for a hug like this one, looking to soothe myself while pretending it was for her. How long did she even live after that? My last act with her was ultimately selfish, and then the fucking tornado wiped her from the map. **

 

It had been a long time since she felt self-conscious enough to feel the need to answer, to say anything at all in this situation. Instead, Max took in Chloe’s scent and the warmth of her. Neither tears nor joy came but there was instead this soft, almost unobtrusive feeling of safety. That was one of the things that Chloe brought to her, this feeling of being unquestionably safe no matter the situation. It used to be that Chloe said the same about her but Max had not asked such an embarrassing question in some time, mostly because she knew it came from a place of selfishness and a need to be reassured and perhaps just a bit because she feared that the answer changed.

 

After a brief moment more where Chloe made some sort of joke Max pulled back, looking up into her face, trying to read it. There was a layer of concern above something that was either relief or happiness. Maybe there was good news? She reached out and pulled the blunt from Chloe’s slim fingers, taking a drag before passing it back. Rough heat poured down her throat, a sensation she was still unused to. After a few moments of struggling with the urge to exhale too quickly, she let the smoke out in another slow, near sigh. Chloe continued to almost study her until such time as she was done, leaning forward and slightly craning her neck to place a kiss on the punk’s cheek.

 

“So, what was your day like?” Max asked her, that crooked smile sliding back into place as she waited, patiently, hopefully for some kind of relief. “You got back a bit later than I expected. Good news?”

 

“They’re gonna hire me,” Chloe confirmed, reaching for the spatula only to have Max grab it first. “Hey, mine!” Instead of giving in, Max bumped her hip against Chloe’s playfully and pushed past her trying to ignore the warmth of her body. “Brat. Anyway,” the woman continued as Max carefully flipped each burger, nowhere near so handy with cooking as her lover, “they’re not really concerned that it’s my second job, but they’re gonna basically make me work in the kitchen for a while instead of up front. I don’t dig the idea, but when you score a job… you know.” Max nodded as the natural brunette shrugged and brushed her fringe back from her forehead. “How about you? How were Mr. and Mrs. Uptight?”

 

“Assholes,” Max replied, in a quieter tone than intended. More loudly this time, “a pair of fucking Prescotts.”

 

“Ouch,” Max turned her head. Though the comment seemed mostly in a playful, understanding jest, there was a notable change in Chloe’s eyes, and Max wanted to kick herself for using the name. It was a lot easier when she kept some parts of her thoughts firmly in her own head. “Sucks, but they paid, right?”

 

“Damn right,” she replied, trying to seem more cheerful. “Not that Mr. Uptight wanted to, he expected a free portrait for all the trouble I put him through. You know, with my ‘attitude problem.’ I almost wish it was like the days when you would help out in the studio. You know, just so he could see what an attitude problem is.” That earned a legitimate enough grin from the lithe woman who was now across the room from her fishing a cheap can of beer from the fridge. “No thanks,” she replied to a raised beer as an offer. “But I could use another hit.”

 

“Damn, Max, when did you turn into a such a stoner? What would your parents say?” Max knew precisely why her stomach twisted at the questioning, however playfully it was intended. She knew well why her voice seemed wrong when she tried to give a joking ‘fuck you’ as an answer. A drag later and Max was pulling down the cheap plastic plates they used as their “good” plates and readying bread and cheese for a couple of simple, cheap burgers. With Chloe’s help they were out of the kitchen and sitting on the old couch that served as most of their living room furniture in a couple of minutes.

 

“Hon,” whenever Chloe used the word Max heard her mother in her voice. The memories of a hundred sleepovers when they were younger and the soft, encouraging way that Joyce welcomed her back into their lives when Chloe came back to Arcadia Bay threatened to steal her away from the moment and Max shook her head hard, before turning toward her partner. “Something’s wrong. I know it is, I’m not oblivious, even if I’m no Max Caulfield.” There were several ways to play this conversation but few were acceptable, as most would lead to deeper talks about what was bothering her. “You’re going to have to tell me.”

 

**Joyce was such a fucking champ. No matter how much trouble Chloe gave her, she continued to love her with her whole heart. Even when I got up to shenanigans with Chloe, Joyce didn’t hate me, didn’t tell me to fuck back off to Seattle. She stood by me when I spoke out against David, despite clearly loving him, despite the fact that he clearly loved her back. She put Chloe first when she thought that on top of the outburst of rage David might have been acting dangerously toward others. No matter what, Chloe was first. The family was first. It’s wrong that she died in the diner without David or Chloe with her, not knowing what happened to either of them. But, if I’m selfish, I’m grateful she was with Warren at the end.**

 

 _I can’t lie to her,_ Max thought, turning her eyes on her girlfriend’s eager, caring expression. _I can’t do that. I can’t tell her, either._ So, Max told her the truth, at least the truth that seemed safest and the least hurtful.

 

“I’m just tired,” she said, glancing up. “The guy was an asshole today, I got upset, sat on the floor like a pouting little bitch after he left and now I feel silly about it.” That was all true enough, but it earned little more than a frown from Chloe, who scooted just slightly closer to Max and reached to caress her face. The urge to lean into the caress was strong enough to overwhelm her, so when it turned into Chloe cupping her cheek for a moment while absentmindedly balancing her plate on her lap, Max decided to close her eyes and enjoy the connection. It wasn’t as if she was touch starved, or anything. Chloe was just the only person able to elicit feelings that seemed positive from her. She was also able to make her feel the absolute worst, though this was never something she intentionally did. Chloe never tried to hurt her and always tried to help. No request, however large or small, seemed to upset her. Instead you could watch the gears turn in her mind as she tried to figure out how to fulfill it.

 

**Warren really didn’t want a lot. He felt isolated from a lot of the school even though few outright disliked him. I don’t think he ever really noticed how much Brooke liked him, either and that was my fault. I was there. He was always willing to help me and all he wanted in return was simple affection. He never pressured me to be romantic with him or anything. He wanted to go to a fucking drive-in and watch a bunch of jackasses in ape costumes play out a classic sci-fi story. Stuff kept happening to get in the way and it never happened. I hope he stayed in the diner with Joyce. He deserved to be with someone like her when he died. I hope he didn’t die alone in the streets like Evan. No one deserved that, no matter how pretentious.**

 

Suppressing the urge to shiver when Chloe broke off contact, Max started eating. Perhaps it was self-consciousness that motivated it but she made sure Chloe knew how grateful she was for the simple act of cooking burgers when she was clearly having a busy day. It was typically Max’s job given she worked less hours overall. Instead of simply saying, ‘you’re welcome,’ Chloe waved it off. Her earlier happiness looked to be blunted by Max’s shit mood and that made her feel guiltier, something that she probably should have been half impressed by.

 

“Good shit,” she said, “on getting the job. They’ll learn how lucky they are pretty quick and maybe you’ll get moved to the front like you want.”

 

When they had both cleared their plates there was a constellation of conflicting urges in Max. In the long run she had not been awake long enough to justify being tired and compared to cooking and cleaning all day like Chloe did she had done far too little physical labor for it to make sense either. Regardless, by the time Chloe returned from rinsing the dishes and leaving them in the sink, Max felt her eyelids drooping. That, and the moment Chloe sat down with a second beer on the cheap TV tray beside her, Max couldn’t resist the urge to scoot close and curl up against her. For her part, Chloe didn’t hesitate. One arm raised and then welcomed her in, settling atop her shoulders softly, almost like the draping of a blanket. Max pressed her cheek against the woman’s shoulder.

 

**Evan never really saw it coming and this time I wasn’t there to save him. There was almost no warning. He probably wouldn’t have even been able to hear the whistling noise of the sheet metal flying at his head. If he was, he didn’t have time to really process it, just dropped instantly. Dead on the ground like that fucking trucker. Dead like Alyssa, like Dana. At least it was swift for them, not like Victoria. Did that bastard wake her up or kill her in her sleep? Which would be worse? What would I want? Would I want to see my death coming? I suppose I have loads of times. Fuck.**

 

It was only when her hand tightened on Chloe’s ragged ‘A7X’ tee that Max even realized she had grabbed onto the woman properly. Chloe’s arm tightened in response but she said nothing. It wasn’t the kind of peaceful quiet that sat between them when they were at the end of a long day, standing outside of the building and having a smoke. This was different. This was the kind of quiet that convinced Max that Chloe knew just what was going on inside her head. This was a quiet that accompanied intense stares, tight hugs, squeezed hands, obvious attempts at reassurance, at comfort. For all the pretension and dancing about Max did to make sure Chloe wasn’t exposed to the guilt she felt, there was all the reason in the world for the more rational part of Max’s mind to think that Chloe knew. Chloe knew everything, of course. She wasn’t stupid and no one alive knew Max anywhere near as well as Chloe, not even her own parents. If the two brought the topic into the open, if they discussed it, though, who knew what would happen? Would Chloe hate her? Would she hate herself? Would she _hate Chloe?_ None of those were acceptable outcomes. They all made her sick to her stomach.

 

Eventually she buried her face entirely against her girlfriend’s side. She didn’t cry and sob like some drama queen determined to soak through the woman’s shirt, but suddenly she didn’t want to see the television where Paul Ryan was on some news show rambling about how ineffective the president was, earning the occasional scoff from deep in Chloe’s chest (followed by, “Rage against my ass, you fucking poser.”) She didn’t want to see the thick, brown carpet beneath her feet or the smoke-stained walls of their apartment. She wasn’t there in the moment, so damn if she was going to pretend otherwise. She was only with Chloe. Just Chloe.

 

Max didn’t know when the sound of her lover’s breathing or the fingers brushing through her hair lured her to sleep, all she knew was that eventually Chloe was shaking her awake, insisting they move to the bed. There was no argument to be had, however little she wanted to stand. The bed was, frankly, the one decent piece of furniture they owned and that was where Chloe was going to boot. By the time they made it into the small bedroom Max had barely had the time to shake the cobwebs from her had enough to walk on her own. Shakily, she managed to discard unnecessary layers of clothing but, found herself standing lost, eyes trailing over the room afterward. This was a problem quickly rectified as she was half pulled and half lifted into an embrace ending up with them both prone on the bed. Instinctively, she sought out Chloe’s lips, craving one quick, warm kiss. Just enough to feel the connection between them thrum as if it were a tangible, living thing.

 

“’night, Chloe,” she murmured, eyes opening properly just once to trace from her lover’s hair (it could use a new dye job) down to her eyes, to find them just as open, perhaps more aware. Max bathed in the sight and then leaned her head back as if collapsing. She knew that if she could just have a few hours of sleep, then she could wake up and do it all again. Soft kisses against her neck dragged her toward sleep and away from it all at once.

 

“Everything’s alright, isn’t it, Max?” Chloe asked soothingly as they adjusted position on the bed.

 

“Of course,” Max lied.

 

“Of course,” Chloe lied back.

 

**Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't even care to find any recognition or proliferation for this fic. I do hope you enjoy, though.

Even the sound of cars and pedestrians outside barely penetrated the walls, so their bedroom was fairly quiet, calm. It wasn’t the same kind of quiet as she would have woken up to even a year before, with the sound of birds to ease her back into the waking world. There were no blue-jays waiting just outside a window, starting their day. A moment of rubbing at her eyes cleared the sleep away and she found herself tracing shapes that didn’t really exist outside of her own head in the stucco on the ceiling like stars in constellations. It was childish but it helped her mind first thing in the morning, keeping her from falling pray to the desire, nay, need for more sleep. Always more sleep.

Chloe rolled over as carefully as she could and found herself face to face with Max who was still dead asleep despite the rapidly approaching alarm. That was alright. Quiet time alone in the morning like this served so many purposes. It helped her structure out her day in her own head and, well, typically a sleeping Max Caulfield was one of the most peaceful and adorable looking Max Caulfields out in the wild. Chloe never turned up a chance to take her in, just for a moment or two. In sleep, Max’s face didn’t show her stress, her fear, her sadness. In sleep, she looked more like the person Chloe had grown up with: carefree, thoughtful and maybe never childish, but certainly more capable of just letting go, of being playful. She missed the playful Max Caulfield, who made appearances that were both rare and cruelly brief since Cincinnatus Day.

The story of Cincinnatus is one of the rare things she remembered from lessons on ancient history. He was an ancient Roman general who was called out of retirement, pulled from his field and his plow and given complete control over the Roman armed forces, as long as he swore to lay down his crown once the job was done. The job, as it were, was to rescue the emperor who had been out to visit a camp of his soldiers when the enemy attacked, resulting in his capture. Given near omnipotence when it came to Rome’s soldiers, Cincinnatus—a genius strategist—marched his forces on the enemy and destroyed them to the last, rescuing soldier and ruler alike. He did not take any plunder from the battle as would have been the norm for the time and laid his crown down when the battle was won, to retire quietly if famously back to his plow and his field.

There, her eyes opening as the klaxon of the alarm clock began to blare, was Max Caulfield, Chloe’s Cincinnatus. She grinned as the woman slammed her blue eyes shut immediately and tried to block the sound from her ears with a pillow. Briefly Chloe considered turning the alarm off or ripping the pillow away just to drive Max a tiny bit crazy, but instead she leaned forward and placed a kiss on the woman’s forehead, then her cheek, then throat, and so on and so forth until Max was forced to open her eyes and return the kiss. At one point Chloe positioned herself over Max, ostensibly to simply better tease her, but indulged them both significantly by slamming the snooze button.

It was rather hard to keep teasing Max when the brunette reached up and wrapped her arms around Chloe’s shoulders, forcing Chloe to fall against her. The embrace was warm and oh-so tempting but it could only last so long before they were forced to break apart and procrastinate getting up as much as possible. Chloe didn’t call Max on her stalling and Max ignored Chloe’s but finally, they sat up and seemed to sigh in unison. It was the sound of surrender to the start of the day. Chloe wanted the bathroom, music and breakfast.

“Hey, why don’t you take the first shower?” Max said, as if she was reading Chloe’s mind. Damn girl probably could. She’s always been too bright for her own good. Sometimes Chloe liked to joke that Max was the heart and the brains of their operation and Chloe was the pure, unadulterated badass. The truth was, that wasn’t quite enough anymore. “Alright, babe?” Chloe turned and winked in answer. By the time she had fished out a ragged second-hand Nirvana tee dragged out of a thrift store, Max was pausing at the door and turning back. “Full shift at the diner?”

“Yeah,” she said, regretfully. Her job was not so horrible but it was a good state away from where she wanted to spend her life. Max knew this well, which probably explained the soft pat on her shoulder, or the equally soft peck on her cheek. “It’ll be okay. I’ll sling some eggs and hashbrowns for the elderly and the hungover, some burgers in the afternoon. The us’.” Clothes in hand, Chloe stepped out into the hall behind Max, who headed into the living room half dressed, her head still low, as if she was at risk of nodding off at any point. If she went to curl under a blanket in front of the TV, Chloe would probably have to wake her up in time for her own shower. “Morning,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

“Good morning,” Chloe could swear she heard a smile in Max’s voice as she replied. Chloe took a moment to check her face in the mirror as the water started to warm up. She was free of a lot of the ‘dark circles under the eye’ problem that Max sometimes complained about on the rare occasions she brought herself to complain about anything. In exchange, Chloe seemed to be constantly on the verge of some sort of break out, no matter what kind of soap she used. Perhaps it was stress related or perhaps from working over a stove or waiting on people thirty odd hours a week. She wasn’t sure, but wasn’t in the mood to find out how bad things could be. That was the last thing she wanted to think about at a time like this.

The shower was not as quick as it should have been, mostly because it was hard to convince herself to leave the warmth of the bathroom, but perhaps her slow pace was a blessing in disguise. By the time she was dressed and ready for breakfast the entire apartment smelled of sweet, glorious, horrible-for -you and rather rough on their budget bacon. She rounded the corner to find their old table already loaded down with plates and Max waiting for her with poorly disguised impatience. No one had ever made the conscious decision that they could only eat together but something about it seemed to mean something to Max. That meant something to Chloe.

“Whatcha want to drink?” she asked the brunette, who looked slightly frustrated upon realizing she had forgotten something. It didn’t particularly bother Chloe, though, who opened the fridge and began to take inventory. There were not too many options, milk that probably only had a couple more days of life to it and orange juice that probably had less. She glanced back at Max, who answered in a kind of hurried voice.

‘OJ’s fine.” Chloe made sure to roll her eyes at the back of the fridge and not toward Max, before dragging the carton out and pulling a couple of glasses from the wrack on the counter.

“So,” she said, as she brought the glasses and carton to the table, lowering into a seat. “I’ve got an idea, I think we need to do something special this weekend. Things have been a little too quiet the last couple, ever since Blair started picking up the Saturday shifts.” With her fork halfway to her mouth, Max nodded. The tiny bit of movement sent egg tumbling back to the small mound on her plate. Annoyed, Max stabbed at another bit and tried again. “I’m not sure yet but I think I have an idea. I’ll fill you in as soon as I know more.”

She looked up to gauge the look of anxiety on Max’s face and saw that it read at something like a six out of ten. That was concerning and all, but not yet at levels of panic or emergency. Reaching across the table she cupped Max’s hand in her own. She didn’t have to say anything but simply holding the hand conveyed enough, she hoped. Love, comfort, an implicit promise that she wouldn’t put Max through anything she thought she would end up hating in the long run. Still, Chloe had a mighty need of her own. If her plans worked out then she would have at least the opportunity to fulfill it.

“It sounds good, but I’m still curious,” Max told her when they finally broke contact. Chloe grabbed a slice of bacon and bit down. Perhaps it was the taste, the smell or the sense of vulnerability in the air or all three combined but that bite was enough to nearly drag even her back in time. For a moment she was sitting at home, or rather, her childhood home, exposed to the sunlight spilling in from the back yard and it was her mother’s cooking she was biting into. Swallowing bacon was actually rather difficult with a lump forming in one’s throat, so Chloe took the excuse to raise a glass to her lips and avoid any curious stares Max might throw her way.

Not for the first time, she wanted to sigh maybe even cry, to tell Max she missed her mother, her father, her home, her room and her clothes. In a way, everything she owned and the apartment itself now seemed like it belonged to a different Chloe Price. This Chloe Price existed only within the confines of Los Angeles, California and didn’t have a past. She didn’t have anything to discuss about before she moved to LA because nothing from that time period existed. They did not talk about Arcadia Bay, they did not talk about Cincinnatus Day. In fact, she had once called the day Arcadia Bay was lost with all hands, ‘Cincinnatus Day’ in conversation with Max and was able to read how much she hated the term and how much it hurt to hear in her expression. That was four months ago and to Chloe’s knowledge Arcadia Bay had not been mentioned out loud since.

“Chloe?” she raised her head again. “Are you alright?” Chloe weighed the pros and cons and made a decision she had made more times than she could count since they came to LA: she lied.

“Absolutely. Just kinda think I need to bake before I hit the streets.”

“Aren’t you doing this whole munchies thing backward?” Max teased. “You toke up and then you get the urge to pig out.” Chloe didn’t respond but she did smile and take a notably larger bite. To Max’s credit she was becoming handy in the kitchen but as delicious as breakfast was, next to the memory of her mother’s cooking it seemed suddenly rather hollow. That felt like a fairly insulting thought to have so she made sure, perhaps out of guilt or perhaps out of sheer pigheadedness, to show extra appreciation.

Afterward, as Max showered, Chloe flopped back on the couch and indulged much as she said she would while vegging out in front of the mindless arguments of the 24 hours news cycle. Someone was bitching about healthcare, someone else was recounting some sort of bombing in Iraq. It was all certainly important enough to pay attention to but entirely out of her control, so Chloe left it as background noise, not quite committed enough to go and turn on some tunes in the other room. Plus, Chloe’s kind of music was a bit much for Max in the morning and they had an agreement. Max didn’t take pictures of Chloe when she was exhausted and Chloe kept mornings at least a little calm.

“Hey,” she looked up through a bit of smoke hanging in the air at Max’s face, unsure when she had lost track of time. “Let me walk you to work?” That earned a chuckle and agreement. It took Chloe a moment or two to finish getting ready, but eventually she trailed behind Max out into the morning air. The stairs weren’t quite secure enough or wide enough for them to walk side by side down but she kept close to her woman’s back. Max was slightly less formally dressed than usual, which might speak to her overall mood as being better. Or, fuck, was it worse?

It was sometimes a shame that they had gotten the apartment for cheap in the deal on the studio, because when it came to walking your partner to work it didn’t get much shorter of a journey than a single flight of stairs. Still, it gave Chloe just enough time from hitting the bottom step to the front door of the studio to wrap an arm around Max’s waist and fall in step beside her, however briefly. They parted with a kiss, with well wishes for the day but Chloe still felt a bit of unease as she turned back and watched Max turn on the lights, hurrying inside. Was this really all there was to their relationship—fuck that, even their friendship?--now, never speaking truths deeper than the surface? No version of Max she had ever heard of would have stood for that and now it was the norm. Chloe wasn’t the most mature person in the world and even she knew damn well how wrong that was.

Chloe had the option of going back upstairs for half an hour but somehow that didn’t feel like the best idea in the world. Something about solitude and her souring mood whispered about sleep or blazing or both. Neither were the best idea and taking off early gave her time to see about her idea for Friday night. It was just early enough that the amount of people on the sidewalk even in a not-so-busy part of the city was still thick, most were still heading to work rather than already in it. Chloe slipped between a pair of men with a wide enough gap as they passed her and took most of her usual route to work at something slightly quicker than a stroll. It was no skin off her nose when people brushed past her with a frustrated sigh in a hurry. They could have left themselves extra time too.

Fuck, when did I start sounding like mom? The thought joined a few that had already set to work trying to upset her but she didn’t let it. At a point where she would have continued forward for another six blocks to get to Ray’s Diner, Chloe took a left instead. Breaking from routine was supposed to be fun, right? This was as much a break as she could really afford to come up with. Mellow as she felt it was almost a treat to see the bar she had been eyeing for a while. It was small, seedy, the perfect kind of place that one might have found her sneaking into illegally around Arcadia Bay, just stuck into an equally kind of shady corner of LA It was almost like destiny for her to eventually catch a show there and Blair did suggest that this Friday would be a good one. Drawing to the front doors she found a flier taped to the outside.

Rather than take a photo of the flier she took advantage of ease of access and tore it from the glass door. It was advertising a show starting at nine on Friday night, advertising a ‘hard punk’ band which had named itself “Cold Dead Hands.” She wasn’t sure at all about the quality of music or who decided whether a label of ‘hard punk’ applied to a band or not but there was at least going to be alcohol and people who thought they wanted to thrash. That was all the promise of fun she needed. If it sucked it would be easy to turn around and go home.

Chloe folded the flier up and stowed it in her back pocket before ambling off. There was no desire to be so early to work that she might be put behind the grill before it was time to clock in. This way, at least, she could take in the sights, sounds and smells of LA, which were not always completely pleasant. For the most part the smog over the city was not as horrible as it was often made out to be but more than once they were warned that on particularly hot and humid days it could be unpleasant. Since moving to the area around LA and working to scrape up enough to keep an apartment neither Chloe nor Max had experienced the urge much less had the time to go out to the coast or really experience the beach. Then again, it was only late April and hardly warm enough to allow for that. Maybe she could convince Max to take a trip of that nature in the future. 

For now, the convincing needed to be saved for the concert. It was hard to say whether this would end up being Max’s scene but it was damn sure hers, so it was worth a try. While walking, Chloe tried to recall the last show she had been to but it was hard to place a name. They were nobodies like this Cold Dead Hands group and had played in an even worse dive a town over from Arcadia Bay. Most of the night was a blur thanks to a bartender that looked the other way instead of carding. That probably wasn’t the best choice to make on Friday, but she badly needed to unwind. All that Chloe could remember doing for the last few months was working, smoking and, on her breaks at the diner, taking courses to try and get her GED.

While she had promised Max a surprise for Friday, it was the surprise she was hoping would come a couple months down the line that she was keeping mum on. Chloe did not intend to work at either the diner nor this new job in a hotel’s kitchen for the rest of her life. Her mother and father would have wanted her to make an attempt at college and, to be fair, she did not care if she was in debt for the rest of her life as long as she attempted to make something out of herself. Maybe, just maybe, if she got into a school she could also convince Max to do the same. Max could do so much if she just believed in herself again. Every single desire to express herself artistically, to be a famous photographer like she had always wanted was gone. Now she took portraits and photographed weddings and birthday parties.

They brought her some money (in fact in the long run she did almost as well with her solo photography as Chloe would working two jobs) but not even while drunk would Chloe believe Max could feel fulfilled in this. This was not what she had ever expressed wanting. Perhaps this way both of them could start doing what they wanted to do instead of just surviving. Sometimes she thought all of these ideas a bit heavy handed and assumptive but a part of her was sure: this was what she had to do. If it motivated Max again, all the better. She was almost eager to start her shift just to get to break, considering she had a very limited amount of time to attend to her studies without Max finding out. The woman meant no harm by it, but fuck if she wasn’t still so nosy.

She pulled the door open to see and hear the diner lively for so late into the morning. The counter by the register was completely occupied, almost to the one by regulars she could name on sight and take a fair guess as to their order to boot. Booths lining the wall had a variety of faces, some she recognized and others she didn’t. Whether it was the promise of a show that weekend, the will to get through with getting her GED or bantering with customers back and forth (most of whom vastly enjoyed her foul mouth and would give her hell just to bring it out) Chloe was in a far better mood by the time she clocked in.

For all that she refused to follow in her mother’s footsteps, in a way the diner reminded her more of home than anything else in her life. She would not have acknowledged it out loud even for her girlfriend but she felt close to her mother when working the front of the diner. That wasn’t her scheduled fate today, sadly, but by the time she was signed in on the computer by the front register Chloe had managed to trade good-natured barbs with a very fabulous man in his sixties dressed to the nines, who a bit ominously bore the name Frank.

Chloe barely managed to tear herself away from this Frank before a hand came down on her shoulder. She turned her head to see her manager waiting with an expression on her face that Chloe hadn’t quite seen before. It was almost apologetic and sent a shiver of concern through her. Was she about to be fired? Had she done anything worth being fired? Well, perhaps there was more than one occasion where she smelled of ganja but half of the kitchen smelled of ganja, hell, Blair worked the back and she was their dealer with very little pretense, for fuck’s sake.

“What’s up?” she asked, voice clearly expressing her concern.

“Well, maybe I have some bad news?” Judy started, trailing off.

“And maybe I’m about to shit myself here, just hit me with it, Judes.” She remembered being moderately surprised with the woman when she first let the nickname slide, having unfairly judged her as rather harsh. Then again, the day she came in to put in an application she opened the door to hear Judy giving what her mother might call a ‘real dressing down’ to a customer. Come to find out, the customer had made the mistake of grabbing at an employee and Judy was far from the type to let that go.

“I called in Blair to fill your spot for the day, we’re pretty light up front. Stow your bag in the office, you’re waiting today.” The momentary fear passed and Chloe tried not to feel silly about letting out a sigh of relief. “Jesus, Chloe, you look like you thought I was about to put you on the cross or some shit. You alright, sweetie?” From the far side of the counter, Frank spoke over whatever half-answer she was going to give.

“Seems high strung to me, Judy. Guessing that pretty girlfriend of hers has been holding out. What happened, Chloe, you in the dog house?” It was one thing to be embarrassed by her own silly fears, another entirely to give Frank a point in their little game. Worries put firmly aside Chloe turned back to him, lowering her bag from her right shoulder.

“Look, just because you’re riding the couch doesn’t mean we all are, Frankie. My girl and I keep each other plenty happy.” With just enough of a tilt to her voice to let Frank know no harm was meant, she added, “I notice Marcus hasn’t been in with you lately. What happened, did he ask if those pants made his ass look big and you just couldn’t bring yourself to say yes?” Frank’s cracked lips puckered into a playful kiss, earning him an eye roll. Judy saw fit to reassert herself.

“Chloe Price, you’re on the clock, go drop off your bag and get out here.” Chloe simply nodded and pushed through into the kitchen, letting the door shut against Frank’s response.

“And how about some coffee when you finally decide to do some work, darlin’!” The hell of it was, this Frank was the highlight of her work day. He held almost nothing back but bore very little in the way of ill will or malicious intent and he didn’t put up with any in return, either. She made a fair attempt to hurry, but as usual the back office door seemed determined not to open until she threw herself against it.

“Hey, careful there Chloebro. Don’t fuck yourself up,” Chloe turned toward grill, where Blair was waving a gloved hand, looking slightly more exhausted than usual. She hadn’t bothered to do any kind of braid and her hair was just a sad mess beneath the straining hairnet. Chloe couldn’t blame her: she didn’t want to bother with long hair any longer. You could really do just as much with less, as she put it. Plus, when your hair was as long and as thick as Blair’s, dye could cost a fucking mint.

“If they’d fix this fucking do-” it gave way finally, and she tried not to think about what would cause the doorjamb to swell this much, the years of moisture or maybe an occasional flood. Hopefully Judy wouldn’t give a damn that she left the door just slightly open. By the time Chloe reached the front again, Frank was watching, waiting to raise an empty mug in greeting. Bastard probably kept Judy from refilling it just to fuck with me. She affected her ‘waitress’ tone and began making her rounds. The next few hours were far less entertaining than the first. Good customers were fairly common around here because the staff knew to keep the good customers happy and coming back but Frank was a rare gem and once he was gone the day seemed to slow significantly.

Some time about a half hour before she was going to go on break, the door opened and admitted a new face. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for tourists who had gone a bit off the beaten track or some businessman with an itch to avoid the places he might see his colleagues to wander in. The girl who walked in might well have been a tourist but she was damn sure no businessman. She was dressed like someone who had never sat foot in LA in their life: a ratty, dark tee, jeans that had clearly earned the tears across the knee the hard way and a pair of combat boots that no one had bothered to shine in a long time.

As Chloe approached the table with a glass of water, she was struck first by how fucking gorgeous the blonde was. Her eyes were a rather lighter green than expected and seemed to light up more at seeing the glass, all but confirming the earlier guess that this was a tourist who had no idea how to dress for hot weather. But if you gotta fuck up, that’s the way to do it, girl. More than that, there was something immediately familiar about her. She couldn’t be any older than Chloe and was pretty unlikely to have been around the diner at any point but something screamed that she had seen the woman before, even though reasonably forgetting someone who looked like this should be borderline impossible.

“Hey,” she greeted, coming to a stop. “Here, I’ll give you a minute to think about food, but if you want something else to drink, let me know.” Momentarily she had to pause and try not to laugh as the woman reached excitedly for the water, emptying most of it like an eager child before looking back up at Chloe.

“Holy hell, that was nice. You know what, just keep that coming. I really didn’t expect it to be so warm in fucking April.” The woman pushed aside her phone as she sat the glass down harder than intended, causing a bit to spill. “I’m sure you’ve seen a hundred people come in here dehydrated as hell, haven’t you?”

“Absolutely. It’s basically this city’s way of saying, “Welcome to LA.” How long ya here for?” There was a thin line between being a bit sweet to someone and flat out flirting, sometimes. Chloe was fairly intent on not crossing that, but damn this woman must have left a trail of broken hearts behind her back wherever it was she lived. It reminded her in no small part of Rachel when she was at her most confident. Some people simply appealed to others naturally and the woman in front of her was very easily in that category as well. Chloe wondered if she knew that.

“Only a few days. I have a buddy who works in the area, did me a favor and brought me and some of my friends over for a couple nights.” Chloe nodded and then laid a menu on the table, half shaking her head. “Forget that. What’s good here? You choose.” Usually she found such requests more frustrating than endearing but for some reason, today there was barely any hesitation. Blair was fairly handy on the grill (probably better by far than Chloe herself) and the answer came pretty quickly.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you covered.”

“Lucky me,” Chloe felt a small hitch in her breath. Well, that line between being nice and out and out flirting had been crossed. Trying not to show that she had missed a beat, Chloe simply grinned and walked back behind the counter, sweeping a cursory glance across occupied tables as she passed, making a mental note of who might be on the lookout for a refill. Well, tone it down, Chloe. Doesn’t matter who was sending the signal, your job’s not to receive it. It wasn’t really even tempting. A beautiful girl dressed like a bit of a punk was hardly enough to bring her to her knees, but damn if her new customer wasn’t just that. Still, Max was Max and no doubt about it that woman was her everything.

During the interim she tried not to look at the table unless bringing another glass of water, but inevitably as she went about gathering dishes or bringing out meals she found herself glancing at the newcomer, with her face buried in some new phone. That made things like dodging temptation far easier, not that she was too worried. Eventually though, she was given a signal from the kitchen by Judy and took what was likely a last glance back over her shoulder toward the woman waiting for her meal. Ah well, if there were any mysteries to uncover they were for another day.

Blair barely acknowledged her as she passed through the kitchen and handed her tables over to Judy. Whether the cook was high or just overwhelmed by the orders in front of her, Chloe didn’t try to ascertain before pushing the door to the office open and settling inside. A long sigh escaped her as she managed to get the cheap laptop open and booted up. On the way to work getting her studying for the day done had been an appealing concept but now that she actually had time to start, she felt a little disquieted. Well, if a day could turn sour suddenly it could turn sweet just as fast. Hope for the best.

Just think about it. Max got her diploma after all of the bureaucratic bullshit was taken care of. Just think of her face when you can finally tell her what you’ve been doing. If that’s not motivation enough, you’re slipping, girl. Slipping was one thing, a backslide was another entirely. No going back to hiding in a room staying so stoned she didn’t feel. No more isolation. No more of life in Arcadia Bay. This was the LA of her dreams and that meant it was time to fucking start pursuing them, even if they had changed slightly since the nights of plotting and planning on the floor of her hideout, head resting on Rachel’s stomach or lap.

It was still early enough when she shouldered her bag again and slipped out of the diner, that she took her time on her walk home enjoying a bit of peace with her thoughts, with her fears and anxieties. Quite often she felt like they could not be aired but sometimes just carefully picking through them alone was as effective. For instance, her efforts for the GED sometimes seemed more like a quest for the holy grail; perilous and ultimately doomed to fail. Having time alone, time in the quiet let her pick apart her strengths and weaknesses, so she knew where to focus herself in the future. Yeah, it was likely that every day she did this her mental soliloquy played out the same way, a recognition that numbers worked better for her than names and dates, that math played out better for her than remembering all of the sub-plot lines and implicit themes in works of fiction. That was fine. It was her strengths that she had to capitalize on.

She rounded the corner of Bruins and 26th a little under half an hour after her shift with a second wind for the day, even if her feet ached and she felt like doing little more than putting them up. From where she was all she could see of the studio below their apartment was that the light was still on which was not uncommon given that sometimes Max would take a literal last minute walk-in. All this meant to Chloe was a little extra time to study without the stress of having to hide what she was working on. Still, she wouldn’t have minded coming home just in time to curl up with her girl on the couch like the night before. There’s time for that still.

Chloe probably knew something was wrong a bit sooner than it really became consciously registered, judging by the way she picked up her speed as she glanced in through the window from a distance. Something about the way Max was sitting at the desk was the first tip off that not all was well. As she got closer, fist opening and closing in frustration, it became all the clearer. The brunette was bent over her desk, face in her hands. It might be easy to mistake it for exhaustion if not for the shaking of her shoulders. No one else was in at least the front of the studio, so it wasn’t as if she was fighting with someone. This was, Chloe decided, not good at all considering her behavior the night before.

She stopped short of the door when she realized that Max hadn’t seen her yet. Stepping aside, Chloe weighed her options. Whatever was going on, Max still wasn’t going to talk about it. Was it going to make things worse if she came in and tried to comfort her? Would Max finally get irritated or simply lie about what was bothering her again? Chloe wasn’t sure she could handle another lie at the moment and the chance to simply make things worse hung there between her and the door, taunting her. Well, fuck that.

Best bet is to go upstairs, start dinner and draw her a bath. She always calms down when she’s had a bath. Nodding to herself, Chloe passed the door quickly so as not to be seen if the photographer suddenly raised her head and took notice of her surroundings. If she wants to talk, she’ll talk. If she doesn’t want to, she won’t. That’s been made crys-tal clear. Unable to completely ignore the bitter edge of her own thoughts, Chloe probably opened and then closed the front door a lot harder than she meant to before kicking off her worn old sneakers.

The apartment was probably in need of a cleaning but there was not likely to be energy enough between them to do much, so Chloe passed into the yellow-white living room, dropping her bag beside the couch before stripping off her socks with a sigh. It would be preferable to wear sandals out here, but they did not help with being on your feet all day. A moment passed as she flexed her fingers and toes, cricked her neck and then pushed through the hall into the bathroom opposite of their bedroom. It wasn’t particularly large or spacious bathroom but there was room enough for a toilet, sink and bath tub, not all that more cramped than the upstairs bath back in Arcadia Bay.

She knelt on the floor long enough to start the water flowing and keep an eye on its temperature before flopping back on her ass, back pressed against the wall while she waited for the tub to fill. As hoped, the front door opened shortly after. Maybe Max had seen her sneaking past the studio after all and maybe not. At this point there wasn’t much she could do about it either way. Her name was spoken at just above a whisper, tentatively.

“Come in the bathroom,” she called, drawing her fingers across the surface of the water and preparing to stand up. I really, really need to unwind. Friday can’t come soon enough. She didn’t try to identify the sounds coming softly from the living room and waited patiently for Max to peer curiously around the corner and then step in. “Alright, you. Clothes off..”

“The magic’s really gone from our relationship, huh?” Max responded, a hollow attempt at humor ruined by the puffy red eyes Chloe was supposed to pretend not to see. “No making out, no heavy petting, no dinner and a movie, just ‘strip?’” Despite herself Chloe smiled. “I guess, if you insist,” the woman sighed before following the instruction, with dramatized exhaustion about her every action. On the other hand if the day sucked, maybe some of the exhaustion was awfully damned real.

“In. Don’t come out until you’ve cleaned up and had a damn soak. No matter what sounds you’re about to hear from the kitchen.” Chloe couldn’t deny one thing: as Max stepped closer she lost a little bit of her ability to make sense of the world around her. Lust threatened to descend and keep her from her goal, like a fog which only fell heavier when warm, soft hands rose to either side of her face and held her in place to let Max steal a kiss. Chloe wasn’t going ever let Frank know that he was right about how long it had been since things had been intimate between them. “I- I mean it,” she said, trying to sound emphatic as Max bit her own lip unconsciously, pulling away. This was not entirely an act, then. One of the surest ways Max could make Chloe want her was to legitimately want Chloe in return and biting her bottom lip was a tell Max still hadn’t caught on that she had. 

In the end, Chloe only barely escaped with her will intact. The silence from the other side of the bathroom door meant that maybe Max was going to take her advice and just soak. That gave her time to pass into the kitchen and start preheating the oven. Dinner’s going to be really, really simple tonight, she thought, glancing at a box of instant potatoes in one cupboard before pulling a bag of cheap chicken breast cuts from the freezer. Just like last night. Fuck it, I’m tired. The thing about preparing a very simple meal was that at least it gave her time to focus her thoughts.

They drifted from subject to subject often, most of which she couldn’t or didn’t want to confront at the moment. While going through the motions in the kitchen, Chloe could easily become lost in Arcadia Bay. Instead, she pondered the lesson read during her lunch break. It wasn’t as if she had time during the break to do much work and this ‘study at your own pace’ approach sometimes left her struggling for motivation on particularly bad days. Not today, though, today had been better than usual as far as sheer content covered. At this rate, a couple more months lay in front of her before she could take the GED and start pursuing college. There were community colleges in the surrounding area she could attend or take online classes at. Anything after that was thinking a bit too far ahead in a situation which could be derailed by any number of pitfalls.

Max emerged clean and calmer from the bathroom before the chicken had gotten a chance to fully cook, but the appreciative look on her face was calming enough that Chloe didn’t feel bad about the choice. Instead, she sat down opposite of Max at their little, rickety table and simply listened to her talk about her day. Sometimes, when things like this happened and Chloe was completely sure that Max was holding back things about what she had gone through that day or what she was feeling, she often felt angry. Today, she met the woman’s words with a sense of calm surrender. Whatever the story was, it would either come or not whenever Max saw fit. It was not something that she could put ahead of everything else, ahead of their relationship, ahead of her own goals.

Dinner was quieter than it typically was and though they again curled up on the couch after, Chloe felt slightly less intimacy. This was strange and conflicting when she considered their earlier contact, the brush with lust. Speaking of, she thought, finally, glancing up from Max’s lap into her eyes. The rest of the notion didn’t need to be molded into words. She reached up, brushing the brunette’s face, watching her pale eyes widen slightly. Chloe grinned as she leaned up, not sure what train of thought she might have just derailed and caring very little. Her lips brushed across Max’s chin, cheek and then throat.

“Would you look at the time,” Max started, before being interrupted by yet another kiss. “It’s time for bed already?”

“Fuck the bed,” Chloe responded, sitting up and turning on the couch to face her lover. For a moment she tried to read Max’s face but found only what she expected, half-lidded eyes, a lower lip clasped between her teeth and then released as they pulled apart.

“Christ, I hope not,” Max said as she reached out, “I’ll have you know that I’m the jealous type.”


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't even care to find any recognition or proliferation for this fic. I do hope you enjoy, though.

* * *

“So,” Max looked up from her bowl of cereal, blurry eyed. The tone in Chloe’s voice was enough to draw her attention alone, but there was also the look on her face to consider. It was a mix between mischief and concern, a rather confusing combination that resulted in Max having to smother a smile. “I’ve had time to think about the Friday surprise thing and… honestly, Max, I just need to thrash. There’s this show a few blocks away. The opening act is probably some lame ass acoustic set but it looks like the last group might be worth a shit.” Her stomach dropped and suddenly the childishly sugary cereal in front of her lost all appeal. “Look, if it sucks or it gets too overwhelming, I promise, we can just come back home.”

 

_Max, say something, dumbass. Or she’s just going to get upset._

 

“Sounds good, what time?” There was no way in  _hell_ Max was going to rob Chloe of her fun considering how much work she did and how much she put herself through.  _Not to mention how much I put her through._ “I don’t have any afternoon appointments and I could just take off early if I’ve got to.” Max tried not to notice the relief in the woman’s voice when she replied, waving her hand dismissively.

 

“Nah, it’s really going down around nine. Plenty of time. Now, that is the day I take my first early shift at the hotel, so I’m sure I’ll be a bit out of it. Won’t be able to stay out all night anyway.” Max could hear the implied  _‘but I’ll damn well try.’_  Relaxing just slightly she nodded and took a bite. She might not have the appetite but if she stopped eating all together it might give off the wrong idea. Max was, after all, bigger on breakfast than any other meal of the day. “Thanks, Max. I need to destress. That should do the trick.”

 

“Oh,” she teased, seeing an opening to take control of the conversation and steer it away from anything they might need to avoid talking about. “And here I thought you were  _awfully_ relaxed last night. You slept like a fucking baby once I got done--”

 

“Hey, hey, you can’t blame me for that. Someone wore me out.” There was still this echo of satisfaction that washed over Max whenever Chloe  _particularly enjoyed_ herself. There was  _power_ in making Chloe happy. Not the kind of power to be  _used_ but simply to be experienced, to be ridden like a wave. It wasn’t validation, precisely, though there were plenty of people who sought validation in (to put it nicely)  _passion_. It was more like relief. Whether in carnality or not, it reminded Max that, ultimately, they were both  _happy._ Things were far from perfect, but life was  _okay._ Right?

 

The response on the tip of her tongue was wiped from her mouth as her phone started to go off in her pocket. After a moment of fumbling as she tried to not let her spoon drop  _completely_ into the bowl, Max managed to answer without checking the number at all. She was met with the voice of their landlady, a woman in her fifties who was more likely to sound regretful than she was stern. Max wasn’t sure why that was but there were never any signs that Marie was interested in getting to know either of them beyond the basic tenant-landlord relationship.

 

“Max?” She answered with a cheerful enough greeting, however forced it might sound to her own ears. This particular morning seemed to be designed only to cause her concern. “I just wanted to call because I got phone call last night from one of your customers, who claimed that the studio smelled like pot.”

 

“Oh? I’m not sure why they’d say that. Chloe smokes cigarettes on occasion, but always outside. We’d never do anything to risk getting kicked out of here. This place has been nice to us.” Max made sure to layer a little extra sweet in her voice even as she rolled her eyes pointedly at Chloe who rolled her own in return. “You’ve been so good to us.”

 

“Yes, well, you know I think you girls are dearhearts, but if I do catch you all smoking something other than tobacco, I will have to put you out.” Max made sure to make it clear how she understood and appreciated the woman’s position but they both knew they were playing a game, reading a script to one another. In the end, in place of a ‘goodbye’ or ‘have a good day,’ Marie ended the call with, “Just remember, I come around to collect rent on the first Thursday of each month, same as usual. Just so you can, you know, be ready.” The unceremonious hanging up should have thrown her off, but instead it just provided a little bit of relief.

 

“I bet it was that rich whiny bastard you were talking about,” Max glanced up. “You know, from Tuesday?” She shrugged.

 

“Honestly couldn’t care less, the guy was a roy-al prick.” Shoving the bowl of cereal away in defeat she looked up properly and saw the flash of concern that Chloe quickly buried. She made a decision, sweeping her eyes across Chloe’s empty bowl and taking in the still pale light of the morning. “Alright, the show sounds good, but one condition.”

 

“What’s that?” Chloe asked, sounding slightly guarded. Instead of answering immediately, Max glanced down at the time on her phone just to check how long she had before needing to open up and then stood from the table.

 

“It’s time for a shower.” For a moment Chloe was nonplussed then she snorted, rolling her eyes again as Max took her hand and tried to lightly tug her toward the hallway.

 

“That’s what it comes down to, huh? A show for a show?” The taunt came in time with Chloe rising to her feet and following without releasing Max’s hand, her voice at half a whisper from mere inches away from her ear. “I see how it is.”

 

“Yesterday you had to get me naked first thing after work, seems only fair to return the favor.” And so she did. In this way, despite the tone the morning started with, by the time Chloe and Max parted ways in front of the studio, the day had taken quite the turn and held a bit of promise. Besides, it wasn’t that Max hated going out in public or had never gone to one of Chloe’s shows before. It was just that lately she was  _so on edge_ that the idea of exposing herself to a lot of people or a lot of noise ( _don’t ever let her hear you describe her music like that, Jesus Christ, Max, you sound old_ ) seemed about as appealing as taking another class under Mark Jefferson.

 

**What is it about a person like Jefferson that can let them pass themselves off as normal or worse, acceptable? What about him made it easy to not notice that he was sick? Was he a good liar or did he just dazzle with his history, his photos? What was it that dazzled me? Was it just hero worship or was I just a stupid crushing brat? Everything he has ever said, put into context of who he was is absolutely creepy. What w** **as it he once said? ‘** _**I can frame** _ _**anyone of** _ _**you in a dark corner** _ _**and capture** _ _**you** _ _**in a** _ _**moment of desperation.’** _ _**The sick fucker was always going on about innocence and corruption. We should have all known but we didn’t? Why? What about Jefferson made him such a** _ __**survivor** _ _ _**? Poor Victoria… poor Rachel.** _

 

 _Max wasn’t sure where that one came from but it was a thought she could not allow to linger. So, as soon as her laptop was open, the sign_ _on the door turned_ _, door unlocked and desk relatively organized, Max got to her feet and went to a small closet,_ _back in the section of the studio_ _where she actually_ _took_ _the photographs. Rather than dwell, the energy coming along with both the disquiet and disgust could be channeled productively, if she simply had the will._ _Not sure I do,_ _Max admitted to herself as she dragged a broom from the closet._ _But fuck it, I’ve got a couple hours before I need to take a look at yesterday’s photos. Not that there are many to begin with. Most people would rather take the shots themselves._   _And isn’t it fucking ironic?_ _she thought as started to sweep up front._ _Me of all people lamenting the age of selfies._

 

_**Go fuck yourselfie.** _ ****

 

By the time that the door opened for the first time that day (and fuck, she hoped not the  _only_ ) the floors had been swept and she was considering whether she should sneak off upstairs to grab a bucket and go ahead and mop. This aversion to starting other things was becoming far too common, but at least the place typically looked nice when customers came in. Max lifted her head at the sound of the door opening and felt her stomach fall out. The woman in the doorway was dressed in clothing still far too expensive to be justified on a normal day. A couple of days prior, Max had written her and her husband’s dressing up as maybe to show solidarity with their young daughter getting her picture taken. Today, she was forced to accept that the woman was more like Victoria than she thought, needing to wear an outfit that cost more than Max’s own wardrobe combined.

 

“Hi there,” she greeted as cheerfully as she could. The woman’s face was not twisted into a scowl or anguished, bothered grimace, so it was a lot easier to fake caring about the woman she had just recently called ‘a real Prescott.’ The blonde— _What was her name? I think Michael was her husband’s. Shit.--_ returned with a ‘good morning’ and approached the counter with her hands folded together. Rather than wait for the customer to speak, she found that it was often more productive to prompt them. “What can I do for you today?” This was the closest she trusted herself to get to discussing their appointment on Tuesday without the possibility of becoming a little on the upset side herself.

 

“Well,” the woman murmured, lowering her sunglasses— _It’s not even that fucking bright out—_ and looking her in the eyes, face contorting all of the sudden in a way that set off warnings in Max’s head. “The fact is that I wanted to ask you something.” Max blinked, as this was not quite what she expected. There was no fresh fit about her performance on Tuesday and no apparent attempt to get out of paying. This was refreshing but off-putting. She settled back in her chair.

 

“Sure, anything I can do.”

 

“Do you do weddings?” Immediate conflicting impulses passed in her brain; one which told her to lie, immediately and send this woman on her way and another that counseled good manners in her mother’s voice, (which only served to make her feel guilty that she hadn’t talked to her family in about a week) warning her to be polite. Whether it was that guilt or the way the woman was actually speaking to and acknowledging her, Max didn’t know but she felt inclined to answer honestly.

 

“Sure, I can do that. Do you still have my number or would you like my card?” Relief seemed to flood the lady’s features and Max found herself feeling a bit sorry for her. There was clearly some sort of stress going on. Without waiting for a response Max pulled one of her cheap, thin business cards from their holder and slid it across the counter. Maybe this was an opportunity to wipe away whatever hard feelings the woman held and make more money on the side.  _Though,_ Max noted as she slid the card to her,  _her and Douchecott are definitely married._

 

“Oh, thank  _Christ._ ” That was  _definitely_ relief tinging her voice. “You’d never believe the trouble I’ve had with helping my sister plan her wedding. She’s becoming a huge bridezilla and her photographer backed out.” Max nodded, though privately she thought that this was not the best argument to employ if you wanted to convince someone to work a job. Still, maybe the woman knew and didn’t care, after all one look at Max and the studio would be all one needed to know that most every cent went into overhead. Honestly if it weren’t for--  _Not right now, Max. You can feel guilty later. Now, you’re getting work._

 

“Well, I can certainly help. I’m free to shoot weddings and events as long as I have a reasonable heads up and we’re able to work out a reasonable price.” For a moment she wondered what a reasonable price was. She had her standard rates but  _damn_ if the idea of working with this woman or her ‘bridezilla’ sister didn’t feel pretty unreasonable in and of itself. Still, that just wasn’t how these things worked. “I’m sure we can work it out. Do you want some time to talk to your sister about it?” For the next, painfully awkward three minutes, she quoted her prices and talked about the wedding date (some time, mercifully still a ways in the future) and even agreed to do a ‘bachelorette party photoshoot’ if the bride desired it. Naturally as occurs when two people who do not know or especially like one another broach topics that are personal, the conversation began to drop off and Max was actually seeing the customer ( _her name is Claire, for fuck’s sake)_ to the door for the sake of appearances of politeness when she turned back and surprised Max.

 

“I’m sorry about Michael, my husband. He’s not a monster, you know? He’s just,” perhaps this statement and the way Claire sagged as she said it, as if she was too tired to keep on her feet was a show. Perhaps she was trying to earn Max’s pity to later use against her. Either way, it worked. “He’s difficult. I told him not to make that damn call, but there’s only so much I can really do. You know what men can be like sometimes.”  _I guess._  Max made sure not to smile, just nodding kindly. Unfortunately, the pale-blue haired woman who shared her bed held no such inhibitions.

 

“Oh yeah,” Chloe chimed in from the doorway. “Max is a real heartbreaker. I’ll tell you what.” Max wanted to roll her eyes at Chloe or chuck something her way but neither of those struck her as particularly mature. Rather than risk making a bad impression— _Not that I’d give a damn except for this job offer—_ Max saw the woman off and when she was out of eyesight turned to Chloe and placed her lips against the woman’s cheek, earning a grin and an arm wrapping over her shoulder. “Well, that woman could give some of those snooty Blackwell preps a run for their money.”

 

“You have no idea,” Max admitted. “Though, thanks for pitching in there at the end.” Chloe nodded amiably and since no playful ribbing came Max looked up into her face in concern but saw only a sense of urgency. This was disconcerting enough, but nothing to immediately set off any panic. She backed up against the front of the studio, pulling Chloe with her. “What’s up, Chloe? You look worried.”

 

“I’m on my way out, got my first shift at the hotel. I shouldn’t be back until a bit late today.” Max exhaled, feeling a bit guilty that she forgot about this being Chloe’s big day.  _I’ve been getting really fucking self-absorbed lately, that’s for sure._ “I know, I know, ‘Wowzers, Chloe, you’re such a badass! Have a good day!’” Max laughed in spite of herself and turned to embrace Chloe more fully.

 

“You  _are_ a badass,” she said. “And you’re totally gonna do fine at this new place. I know you will. They’d be stupid not to see how lucky they are once they get a look at you.”

 

“Max, Max,” Chloe chided, pulling back. “This is no time to be hitting on me.” No customers were around to prevent a rolling of the eyes this time. “Well, future Mrs. Price, I’ve got to get to the bus stop. You have a busy day ahead?” Max shook her head, honestly.  _Future Mrs. Price, huh?_

 

“Nope, I’ll just make this a kind of upkeep day. And don’t worry about dinner, I’ll have something waiting for you when you get home.” Max watched Chloe hesitate, nearly pausing in her steps as she turned back. “What is it?”

 

“Nothing, Max, have a good one!” The end of the exchange left her confused and feeling as if she had missed out on a conversation that was happening somewhere just behind her back. That happened with Chloe on occasion and it made Max wonder what she was or wasn’t saying that sometimes caused this. It was not a pleasant feeling, the idea that she might have hurt the woman without even  _comprehending_ the action. At least she was getting better about seeing it and not realizing several hours later when Chloe’s mood was in the tank and hers was soon to follow.

 

“Chloe,” she called after the woman earning another pause, this one more complete and curious. “I love you. You’ve got this.”  _I appreciate you. I want you. I need you. I’m so fucking sorry. You’re everything. Listen, Chloe, I don’t think I’d be around without you. I can’t imagine what life would be like without you. I’d damn Arcadia Bay thrice over to save you. I’m a cretin. I’m a monster._ All truth, but instead she gave such a farewell. Why did it feel like her heart was breaking when a wide, genuine smile hit her girlfriend’s face and Chloe turned away in a much better mood?  _I’m also very, very lucky._

 

At some point, coming out of her reverie Max realized that Chloe had long since turned the corner and she was standing, pointlessly, on the street outside of her little studio.  _This isn’t enough anymore,_ she thought as she climbed the stairs to their apartment to hunt down a mop and bucket.  _I have to contribute more. I have to find some other way to make money. Chloe’s working two jobs. Maybe I should be too._ Chloe once told Max she didn’t care what Max did for a living as long as it involved a camera, something Max loved. It was not the most stable source of income and they could only live off of Chloe’s income, Max’s own pittance and the leftovers from David and Joyce’s insurance money for so long, especially renting the studio out, as well. This was, after all, LA.  _What the hell was I thinking?_

 

Eventually as the light started to get lower in the air Max decided to call the day to a close. As things went, business had been better than expected for a new business which advertised online but mostly seemed to draw eyes from posters hung around the neighborhood. Having enough free time in her schedule to take walk-ins had actually allowed her to take three clients that day. Absolutely not enough to really justify the job but, but enough of a deviation from the norm to feel like maybe her earlier pessimism was just one more sign of her newfound habit of petty self-pity.

 

 _You knew it was going to be hard. It’s only been a couple of months. Word of mouth will help,_ she counseled herself, turning the lock on the door.  _Besides, you can just step up the advertising, at least for what it is. Go out and put up new fliers. Ask Chloe to put some up on her way to or from work, or maybe try to see if she can bring a stack in to the diner and leave them on the counter or something. Judy likes her._ Thinking of the diner did remind her of Blair, a woman with dark eyes, long eyelashes and thick, bushy hair who was basically Chloe’s dealer. That, in turn, reminded her that upstairs was an effective enough tool to help her unwind after a long day of doing little more than stressing and looking at photographs.

 

Max wasn’t sure exactly when she started to indulge without Chloe but lighting up was far from the worst way to end the day. Not long after she shut the apartment door behind her and kicked off her shoes, Max was feeling  _far more_ relaxed and fighting the urge to rest instead of get a little work done around the house. She honestly felt herself lacking in energy more and more often after work, barely wanting to sit on the couch with Chloe much less move about and clean.

 

With some of her own music playing in her ears, (some indie cover of Hold the Line) though, and a decent high ( _I’ll never understand why this is illegal. Sometimes I’m more productive on it than off,)_ Max saw to it that the kitchen and living room were clean and dinner done by the time the front door opened.  _Hell yeah, good timing, Max._ She sat down a glass of water and turned her back to the table, wanting to see just how Chloe looked. If she was especially tired then it probably wasn’t going to be a meal full of discussion. However, she froze in place when there was absolutely no sign of Chloe.

 

Max crossed the kitchen quickly and looked out into the living room, half expecting that maybe Chloe managed to sneak past her. No one else was in the living room and no answer came when she called out Chloe’s name. For a moment she allowed herself to look about the apartment but it was only so big. There was no way Chloe was going to hide from her and after turning up nothing in the bathroom, bedroom or the living room, not even so much as Chloe’s bag, Max was forced to admit she wasn’t home yet. As she settled down at the kitchen table, she tried to tell herself off for being perturbed.

 

With her music playing in her ears how unbelievable was it that she might have misheard a noise in a song and interpreted it as the front door opening and closing?  _It’s not the first time you’ve imagined shit like that, but it usually goes away after you get used to a place. You just need a night with Chloe, a movie and some sleep. Someone_ did  _keep you up a little late._ Her stomach growled in protest and she relented, admitting that she probably needed food too. Max pulled her phone from her pocket and saw a missed call from her mother, an alert which she swiped past entirely while pursuing the clock. Chloe was still close to half an hour out, so Max covered the food. This was half to prevent herself from eating it.

 

“Hey, sleepy,” Chloe shook her awake shortly later, where she sat on the couch, Max tried to apologize but the words were consumed in a yawn which earned her a smile. She didn’t bother to work out whether it was a bit teasing or not. Instead she wiped at her eyes and all but pulled Chloe to the kitchen, knowing that if she were hungry there was no way Chloe wasn’t ravished.

 

“Well, how was it?” Max asked as she took in the woman’s uniform, something she had not really done before. It was really nothing too intricate; khakis and a black top, but it was not precisely Chloe’s typical style.  _She cleans up almost as well as she dirties up._ Max decided pretty quickly not to voice that thought but it felt endearing to see Chloe in clothing that was less reminiscent of her usual style, even if she wouldn’t change the woman for the world.  _Not for a whole city, at least._ “Was it rough?”

 

“It wasn’t too different than the diner. It’s like I said when I went in and applied, the hotel’s not too terribly fancy and most of the staff is pretty laid back. They just want a warm body who knows how to not give people food poisoning.” Chloe leaned back in her chair as Max passed her a full plate. “Good news for me is, this smells amazing.”

 

“Did they have you making anything complicated and pretentious?” she couldn’t help but ask, despite the reassurance that the place was not precisely the five-star hotel she imagined when Chloe first brought up the job opportunity a couple weeks before.

 

“Honestly, hon?” Chloe laughed, genuinely. “I’ve made more burgers today than I usually do in the diner. Most of the folks in the back seem friendly enough. I didn’t really talk to any of them at break. I’ll have to try to change that tomorrow, but,” and she shrugged, grabbing her spoon and dragging her bowl closer. Though still a bit sleepy, Max decided to follow suit and had a spoonful of soup halfway to her lips when she recalled the incident earlier when she thought Chloe had come home. Max shrugged it off easier this time than before. With Chloe at her side it was a lot simpler in some ways to pretend that all was well. All things considered, a bowl of soup made mostly from scratch was pretty distracting, too. Though, after a brief moment Chloe pulled her back to the world.

 

“So, how was your day? You seem a bit out of it.”

 

“I’m good,” Max replied, settling the spoon. “Actually, had three walk-ins, someone canceled an appointment and the lady you saw me talking to earlier apologized for acting like a dick the other day and wants to hire me to photograph her sister’s wedding. So,” Max trailed off for a moment and then dragged a few words that sounded appropriate out. “Maybe things are finally picking up? I really need to get some fliers made and start getting more advertising up.” As far as she was concerned that was that, but Chloe took the time to reach across and grasp her free hand, squeezing it.

 

“Good news,” Chloe said. “I told you, just hang in there.”  _Don’t tell her about freaking out earlier, Max._ “It’s still early and we’re not exactly in the ideal location. Do the wedding, tell people the name of your studio, pass out business cards to anyone who asks and I bet they’ll tell others.” Max turned her hand over until she could grasp back and after a moment let go. Frustration was batted back a bit by this feeling in the back of her throat, something like a sob or a laugh stuck halfway to her mouth. She hoped it seemed more like relief than anything else. “Seriously, Max, if anyone can do this it’s you.”

 

“Thanks, Chloe.”

 

**Why the fuck is she so okay with all of this? There’s no way in hell this is okay to her, is there? Most of the time I don’t even pay my fair share. If it weren’t for her money and the money she’s bringing in we’d be living in that fucking truck out front. How would I feel if things were reversed? If I had to support someone who killed everyone I loved, if I had to look them in the eyes every day, I don’t think I could do it. Why doesn’t she get pissed off? Why doesn’t she just** _**yell?** _ **It would be so much easier if she would just yell.**

 

Yet, at the same time when Chloe released her hand there was a moment where she felt somehow less. She wasn’t particularly known for making sense when she got emotional and that seemed to be her default state lately.  _Not right now, Max. Tomorrow you’re going to a dive, you’re going to get tipsy and you’re going to have a good time. For her. Besides, you deserve it right?_ Max finished her bowl a bit more slowly than Chloe, which gave the cook time to get changed out of the hotel’s kitchen uniform and into a tee and shorts.

 

“So,” Max said, turning to look at Chloe as she settled onto the couch. “Pick a movie, or something. I don’t care what.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Chloe responded, sounding slightly less tired momentarily. “Something with a little bit of action, though, or I’ll fall asleep for damn sure.” Max shot her back a smile and took the time Chloe spent sorting through their pitiful collection of bootleg DVDs to clean up after dinner. Thankfully, most of the damage in the way of dishes was limited to the actual preparation of soup, meaning that cleanup was not too terrible.  _Good. Last thing I want to do today is dishes. I want snuggles and sleep. Lots of sleep._ “Hey, you coming or not? I’m actually hella excited, haven’t seen this one in like, three years or so.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Max replied as she dried her hands. “And you call  _me_ a brat.” She didn’t have to turn back toward the living room to know Chloe was making a rude gesture with her hands. “I saw that,” she lied, “Don’t let your hands write a check your ass can’t cash.” The response was a sound like laughter catching in someone’s throat, so Max checked her guess off as right. She opened the fridge and hovered there for a moment, eyeing something in the way of  _just enough_ beer for the both of them to have a buzz if they so chose.

 

“No fair, you just re-” Chloe’s voice died off for a moment before returning with forced enthusiasm, “really know me way too well.” Max pretended not to notice, pretended not to understand. She swallowed painfully at a dry throat and grabbed a couple of beers after all. “C’mon,” Chloe said, suddenly sounding a bit more herself. Forcing a sigh like a long-suffering partner seemed better than broaching the subject with Chloe that Max knew damn well what she was about to say. Anything was better than that. So, Max made a big deal of taking her time getting back into the living room: she stopped to push their chairs in at the table, to open her own drink and take a long pull, basically anything that helped secure the finger jabbing lightly in her side when she finally sat down.

 

Max had just enough time to hand Chloe her drink before she saw the film on the screen. The opening title was familiar, a dark background with red text declaring, “BLADE RUNNER.” Her heart sank and she turned quickly toward Chloe, trying to remember if she had ever mentioned their watching this film in the other timeline and if so, why Chloe would do this? Instead of seeing any kind of concern or malicious intent, the look on the blue-haired punk’s face was pure confusion. Max opened her mouth to make an excuse but found absolutely none forthcoming. Instead she turned back and scooted slightly closer to the woman.

 

“What, don’t like this one?” Chloe asked, obviously confused.

 

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Just didn’t know we had it,” this was as much truth as it was a lie, at least. Max had not noticed Chloe burn the film but she didn’t pay a ton of attention to what Chloe got up to online. Everyone needed their unwinding time and if movies were Chloe’s, then right on. The fact was, though, this was  _not_ fine. Max couldn’t particularly tell Chloe why that was, though. Not without dredging up the worst parts of the past. “I’m ready to go if you are,” she told the woman.

 

**And this time, under no circumstances am I falling asleep before it’s over. Not with a gun to my head. I would have chosen something else but I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I really am glad I told Chloe only the bare bones about herself in the other timeline. She was like a different girl entirely in some ways and in others she was** _**way too** _ **Chloe. I could have loved her, too, I think. I mean, I guess I did, or do. It’s not like she’s** _**really** _ **a different person, just Chloe having had a different life. I know she had her dad, I know they loved each other but I could see how much she was hurting. I hated it. I hate it right now. I wish I’d never gone there. I wish I never did that to her.** **I wish I didn’t know, I wish it wasn’t in my head.**

 

Max took another sip. To her credit, she was rather wide awake when Chloe drifted off beside her. The film had been done for a couple of hours by then and the couple had been mostly surfing channels quietly. The moment she noticed Chloe asleep, Max had a brief internal struggle and then reached out to shake the woman awake. The conversation was short and mostly mumbled but the pair eventually got up and moved to the bed where Chloe was back asleep in no time. Max, on the other hand, saw more of the ceiling above them than she did the back of her eyelids.

 

What little of the night which had managed to bring some sleep with it was over, ruined by the sound of a cheap screaming alarm clock which Max suddenly hated with all of her being. She was able to turn it off and shuffle with clothes in hand from the room before the urge to break the thing won over good sense. Curious about the uncharacteristically empty bed, she decided to shower after breakfast. While the couch was very obviously unoccupied, Max did find Chloe slumped over the kitchen table with a piece of toast clutched in her hand.

 

“Chloe?” The woman’s eyes lifted from her plate and for a moment it was hard to tell what was going on in her mind but eventually they softened and her face followed suit. “You doing alright? You’re up early.” Max wasn’t trying to sound so concerned but it was unusual for Chloe to be up before her unless she was working an early shift. That wasn’t the plan today, though.

 

“Well, I fell asleep early,” Chloe replied, offhandedly, though the way she shifted in her seat wasn’t quite matching up with the casual tone. She looked more like someone who wanted to be anywhere but where she sat. “I also feel a little sick to my stomach.”  _Well, that’s entirely possible after last night._ “What about you, did you sleep okay?” It had become so familiar a thing to lie or tell half truths that Max almost said she did. Instead a sort of noncommittal shrug came followed by a begrudging shake of her head.

 

“I think I had a couple of hours,” she admitted. “Are you sure you don’t want something else?” Max gestured to a stack of buttered toast on the plate in front of Chloe. “I can make you breakfast if you’re feeling out of it.” Chloe shook her head and shoved the plate away. Feeling slightly frustrated, Max sat down opposite of her. “Are you sure? I’m gonna hit the shower if so.”

 

“Go for it, Max. I’m pretty sure I can’t stomach anymore of this,” Chloe stood and moved past her into the living room before continuing. “I’ll probably be off work not too long before the show tonight. The opening act is supposed to be somewhere around nine. Probably just some shitty little acoustic set, but whatever. You’ll be good to go right?” There was something brusque and to the point about the way Chloe asked and as Max reached out to take a piece of the abandoned toast, she felt a bit gruff herself.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be ready. I promise.”

 

“Good shit,” this was said in a slightly softer tone but it was still the type of thing Chloe said when she was ready to shift away from a topic or to get down to business. Whatever the woman’s issue this morning, Max really hoped that the little show at this bar helped her work it out. Playing Twenty Questions with an angry Chloe Price was far from her idea of a good time and would definitely sour her mood in time for the concert.

 

Max crammed half a piece of toast in her mouth and got up to make her way to the shower when she stopped and turned her eyes on Chloe. She was sat on the couch in silence, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. More importantly, she was looking decidedly anywhere but at Max, including at the television which was still turned off from the night before. Whatever was going on was grating on her nerves and Max’s too. The best thing she could possibly do was just go to the shower, now. She was determined not to let this turn into a bad day.

 

That was probably why she was feeling a bit disappointed in herself as she flopped back in her chair a few hours later. Sure, business had been better than expected that day but as her last appointment for the day slipped out the door, she just felt  _down._ She was upset about a lot of things, most immediately that she did not know what to do to help Chloe’s mood and that she was letting it affect her own. Perhaps she did live wrapped up too tightly in their relationship but it was, in many ways, all she had left. When her cell began to ring Max considered ignoring it but the possibility that it was Chloe calling to apologize ( _or demand an apology, Max_ ) was a bit too much to ignore.

 

Instead when she answered the call it was her father’s voice that met her ears.

 

“Heya, Max. How goes, kiddo?”

 

“Oh,” she started and then to cover up any sense of disappointment in her voice, she hurriedly said, “It’s going okay, dad. I just had a client take off and only have about an hour or so before I close up for the day. How about you? Work treating you better than last time we talked?” There, with one breath she had set up two or three potential topics of conversation that did not direct back around to her, exactly. She paused to let him answer, surprised by how much she wanted to hear his voice.

 

“Oh, you know the boss. He’ll figure out I’m worth a damn when I retire and not a second sooner. You sound tired as hell, Max.” Oh, so this time he was going to aggressively circle back around, huh? “Your mother and I wanted to know how you were. We haven’t heard from you for a bit. It’s like we don’t know much about what’s going on in your life anymore.”  _Guilt trip,_ she thought.  _This is why he called. Right to the point._ “Max?”

 

“Yeah, dad. I’m doing okay. I just didn’t sleep too well last night.” Hoping that the bit of honesty would buy her off having to give anymore information was probably foolish and the rest of the conversation mostly consisted of her trying to shift the subject as her father (clearly being prompted in real time by her mother) tried to convince her to see a therapist for the ‘repressed grief’ she was ‘clearly displaying.’ For her part, Max tolerated the conversation and genuinely tried to find out things about their lives but in the end neither party ended up getting what they wanted.

 

Every attempt to turn the day around ended up being a complete and utter waste of energy. This meant that by the time Chloe came through the front door still hours later, another quick and simple dinner was sitting covered on the table and Max was napping on the couch. She took her time getting up, too, worried about Chloe’s mood. The other woman noticed she was awake, after a moment and stopped halfway toward sitting down at the table to cross into the living room, dropping into a seat beside her unceremoniously. Max wasn’t sure what to say, but the arm that wrapped about her shoulders and squeezed once was calming enough that she tried again to read Chloe’s mood.

 

“Hey,” she greeted, finally. “Look, I don’t know exactly what I did this morning, but I’m sorry.” That was true enough. Instead of immediately responding, Chloe pulled back from her and looked into her eyes rather intensely. It was not a romantic look but there didn’t seem to be any immediate sadness in it, either. Eventually Chloe seemed to fold forward, arms resting on her knees.  _You made it worse, asshole. Say something else._ “Chloe?”

 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m just kinda glad to see you. Have you eaten yet?” Max answered honestly, shaking her head. Chloe didn’t sound as upset but that might come down to have been given a tough shift. This was still her second day at the new job. Perhaps something had come up to wear her out and the mood would come back as her energy improved. Either way, Max let Chloe lead her into the kitchen and the two shared a meal that was about as quiet as the morning was, though not as tense. She shared most of her conversation with her father, including the attempts to guilt her into seeing a therapist, waiting for Chloe to roll her eyes as Max had. “You know,” Chloe said, drawing out the last word, “That might not be the worst idea in the world.” No immediate response came to mind so Max made a noise that she hated to consider a grunt and went back to eating.

 

“Ah, right,” Max said a moment later, “did you want some help getting your hair dyed? It usually goes better with an extra pair of hands.” This at least was something Chloe didn’t really have to think on.

 

“Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe tomorrow night? Not much time now,” Chloe gestured vaguely toward her phone, indicating the time.

 

 

 _Yeah,_ Max thought.  _I didn’t forget the show. How could I?_


	4. Chapter 3

 

 

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Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money or special proliferation, here. 

* * *

 

 

It was just a little later than nine at night when Chloe pulled the door to the bar open. She was clearly in a better mood. Hell, her whole body almost seemed to hum with anticipation as she held the door and let Max in. For Max’s part, the opposite was true: she felt fairly energetic but that was because she was decidedly on edge. The whole trip had been made in almost silence. Chloe seemed to be pretending that everything was fine but it was also very clear that Chloe was well aware of the tension between them that morning.

  


The first look at the bar wasn’t exactly positive. Blair had been right about one thing: there was no way in hell this dive was going to card them. At booths or tables around the front of the building sat a wide array of people, some of them clearly underage, others who might be in their fifties and a significant number of each who were already too high or drunk to maintain coherence. The sight was enough to add to Max’s growing discomfort but, at least, it looked nothing like the attempt at a makeshift club the Vortex Club had set up in the pool back in Arcadia Bay months ago. A soft nudge on her shoulder drove Max forward so Chloe could come in behind her.

  


Despite the tension between them the woman’s arm around her shoulders relaxed her slightly as they wandered toward the bar. While the couple ordered their first drinks of the night, the ‘shitty acoustic set’ Chloe accurately predicted was wrapping up a drunken and unsettling performance of Time is on my Side. It was as they took their first drinks that finally and mercifully Chloe started talking. Max tried to play off her and keep the conversation going as she recounted little shows she had been to but as the conversation progressed she began to feel a vague sense of shell-shock as Chloe spoke of Arcadia Bay and surrounding cities for the first time in months.

  


“And then Mom, well, you know, I think it was mostly on David but Mom lost her _shit._ I tried to tell her it was no big deal, it was just hair dye. They just didn’t agree. I thought I was going to be grounded until I was twenty-one but mom eventually decided they were overreacting.” Max formed half a sentence but halfway to her lips it turned into a cough which Chloe misinterpreted—either intentionally or not—in a more positive light than simply Max freezing up. “Down the wrong pipe?” She turned toward Max (an action which would have looked far more relaxed if she were sitting on a proper bar stool instead of a chair that didn’t particularly spin) and patted her on the back.

  


“Yeah, woops,” the fortuitous misunderstanding seemed to have bought her reprieve from having to reply, having to know what to say or formulate a response. Either Chloe was mostly ignoring her or too distracted to realize Max had been speaking in single or double syllables for the last ten minutes. _I don’t care which it is, this is weird. Months of absolute silence and suddenly she’s talking about it like it’s nothing. Is it the show? Is she actually happy? Or is she not okay?_ Max realized that getting irritated at this confusing turn of events was hardly going to be productive so she did her best to become more active in the conversation, until Chloe began to recall the night she met Rachel Amber.

  


“All I know, Max, was that those guys were too drunk to give a shit about beating the hell out of some scrawny high school girl. If Rachel hadn’t seen what was going on up there and stepped in I don’t even want to think about it.” For the first time this sense of cheer that Max couldn’t help but suspect was false left Chloe’s voice. It was replaced by something that was hard to define, maybe a wistfulness. Max hoped it wasn’t nostalgia. She wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret it if it was.

  


“Me either,” Max replied, suddenly seriously drawn into the conversation. “I’m glad she was there. I’m glad she was there for you.” Chloe turned in her seat and for the second time that day stared deep into Max’s eyes with that same bloodhound’s look like a dog on the hunt or a predator following a strong, alluring scent. The irritation she suppressed earlier fought to resurface, Max wanted to scream, ‘What is it? What do you want to say to me? What do you want me to do?” She did not. After a second Chloe turned back to the bar and finished her drink. _You need tact here, Max, not rage._

  


“Chloe-”

  


“Max, check it out.” On stage, a group of four people that looked to be perhaps a bit older than she or Chloe were finding places to stow plastic cups she was sure weren’t full of water or anything else that were good for the vocal chords or hydration. This band getting into position, grabbing their gear, were all dressed in a style that looked fairly close to what Chloe used to ‘rawk’ back in Arcadia Bay. “Oh, hey, she came into the diner the other day. I must’ve recognized her from the poster.” There was really only one person on the stage who looked to be a _her,_ a tall blonde with sharp features, dressed far too warmly. A weaker person would have read too far into the look on Chloe’s face as something other than recognition.

  


“Well,” Max said, trying to give off excitement and not the air of someone begrudgingly walking to the gallows, “Let’s get up there before they get started.” The next look Chloe gave her was not a searching stare, it was the same wild excitement she expressed following any adrenaline spike. _Relax, Max, it’s the show. It’s not like the old days when that meant she was planning something._ Then again, if she thought really hard about it, was that a good thing? What if some part of her missed the old days? What if they needed the old days?

  


“Darling, you are speaking my language. Fuck it, I’ve needed this for a hella long time.” She slid off the chair and to her feet quickly. Max followed at a more reasonable pace, holding a beer as Chloe hurried through the small crowd gathering at the front of the bar. There weren’t a ton of people in there to begin with but with most of the conscious ones gathering together it was still impressive to see even someone as slight as Chloe find them a path through the crowd, weaving between people standing just far enough apart to give them an opening. For the most part the few who noticed were so perturbed by Chloe brushing or ghosting past them that there was still a fair path left behind when Max reached them, apologizing as she pushed by.

  


Eventually she stopped beside Chloe who was pressed against the stage with just enough room for Max to join her. Up closer, the blonde singer Chloe pointed out earlier was _definitely_ beautiful and whether it was the way the cheaply rigged lighting hit her or something else but those sharp features in her face seemed all the more defined, lines harder. Even if there was a hint of something beyond simple recognition in Chloe’s earlier excitement, Max wasn’t sure she could blame her. When you had it, you had it.

  


What followed was enjoyable for the most part. It seemed that the very front of the stage was the only safe spot between there and the end of the small tiled area designated a ‘dance floor’ once the music began. Some of these people were clearly fans and others clearly not but despite the differences almost everyone in the room seemed to be clued into something that Max just wasn’t. Parts of the music which didn’t sound all that louder or more intricate than the rest seemed to set people off ( _What do they even call that? Windmilling?)_ whereas bits which impressed her more seemed to go. The singer for all her beauty was mostly drowned out by the rest of the band but on occasion Max could catch lyrics which seemed to have darker themes to them than she expected. It wasn’t that a lot of Chloe’s music was sunshine and puppies, but very little of it was outright depressing like the songs they were playing. They bore titles like, Cannibal Castration, Bones of Contention or Burn Down The Branches.

  


After about three songs and two more beers, Chloe didn’t look to be entirely comfortable just standing by the stage anymore and at many points Max caught her shooting thoughtful glances backward, toward the crowd of people behind her who Max had to assume were dancing. It looked more like a bunch of drunk people trying to mimic shitty eighties martial arts films than anything else to Max but the message was clear. Even over the blaring music, she leaned in close and yelled into Chloe’s ear that she ought to go dance. The lights were flashing so wildly at that point that had she not felt the lips brush against her cheek she would not have noticed Chloe kiss her before bounding off into the alarmingly thick crowd of violently rotating, swinging twenty and thirty somethings.

  


There was nothing to do at that point but watch, because the honest truth was that she wasn’t really listening. Max had come to accept a long time ago that the gulfs in their musical tastes weren’t likely to go away but this entire night had not been exactly what she expected: it wasn’t overwhelming so much as disturbing. Maybe it was better to take the incidents that bothered her out of the setting of the show and place them into the larger story line of that whole day. _Just think about it, Max. She wakes up pissed off and now she’s talking about Arcadia Bay for the first time in how long? It’s like you thought yesterday, she’s pissed. Did it actually take her that long to realize? Why is she here, still? ‘Hey, Chloe, are you pissed about me killing your mom and the entire town of Arcadia Bay and planning to leave me?’ Yeah, I can just ask her._

  


“Hey, hey hey!” The band was still playing but she wasn’t pulled from her thoughts by singing. Lifting her head the bright-eyed vocalist was pointing past the front row, into the center of the floor. The crowd had cleared a small space around a pair of people who were either kissing or so close together as to be assumed such. Looking more closely, there was no kissing here. Face to face from inches apart, Chloe and some man who looked to have about ninety pounds on her were doing their best to argue to over the music. “Break it the _fuck_ up, you two.” Max wasn’t sure what she had missed but (feeling a bit of that panic, after all) she crossed to where Chloe stood, looking emphatically _not_ at the guy opposite of her and reached out to settle a hand on Chloe’s arm.

  


She jerked it back suddenly and Max recoiled in reaction. For a moment she and Chloe locked eyes and then the woman was walking away from her, pushing through a crowd of onlookers and rubberneckers. Again, not looking for risk of aggravating the man who was just willing to get face to face with Chloe, Max hurried after. Once clear of the dance floor it became slightly more possible to hear yourself think and in Max’s case that meant that the scream of consciousness (rather than a stream) that had been building for hours was at a fevered pitch. She stopped beside Chloe who was sitting at the bar already, gesturing for a beer. There were so many things she wanted to say or ask that none of them came, instead like a traffic jam they all sat there, none reaching their destination.

  


“What?” Chloe turned, unhindered this time by the fact that she was not sitting on a stool. “What is it, Max?” Distracted, Max didn’t actually see when Chloe got to her feet, but she was holding a beer and seemed more upset than threatening. “What do you want to say, Max? Will you just _fucking_ talk? Will you tell me the fucking truth for _once?_ ” Again, she wanted to know so many things, she wanted to ask so many questions and none of them were forthcoming. “No? Nothing?” After a second, all Max could do was shake her head and swallow against burning eyes. “What’s fucking new?” Max moved her mouth but no words came out.

  


They stood opposite of one another, separated by only a foot or two. So, why did Max suddenly feel like it was the morning before she leaped into Chloe’s truck all over again? Why did she feel like she was watching Chloe lay on that hospital bed, life slowly draining from her? _This isn’t what this was supposed to be. None of this is what was supposed to happen. Chloe was supposed to live and then everything was supposed to be alright. That simple. Now she’s pissed. Now she’s done._

  


“Go home, Max. You’re clearly not having fun here after all.”

  


“Chloe, I-”   
  
“Go home!” Even over the band, this was loud. Even among the din of the bar, she was angry, she was livid. This was the tone reserved for Mark Jefferson or Nathan Prescott. This was neither the friendly tone she once used for Max, nor the more intimate one that had emerged since their friendship took something of a turn. Instead of continuing to yell, Chloe grabbed at her drink again and turned away. Like a gun at the starting line it seemed to be all Max’s legs needed to do what her mouth couldn’t and simply start moving. She cleared the front of the bar in seconds, with an unimpeded path to the door aiding her.

  


Above the roar of her thoughts as she hit the street one suddenly grew like a fire. Max took two steps away from the door and pressed herself back against the wall, right hand clenching tight. This fight was _it._ With certainty, she felt the argument was The End of whatever this was. If she wanted to, if she _really_ wanted to, she could stop that from happening and try something, anything to prevent Chloe from telling her to fuck off. The clenched fist rose and for a moment Max stared at it, trying to understand what she was feeling. There was too much, but one thing she was sure of was that she was scared. _No more. You are not God._

  


“Whoops!” Max turned her head toward the call, some feet to her right. A long leg disappeared around the corner, the only marker of whoever had spoken. Curiosity got the better of her and, either way, the moment where she might have actually chosen to change time was passed. It only took a second or two to get to the corner but by the time she had whoever the voice had belonged to was gone between the bar and another building. Max shook it off. It was nothing, a stranger making noise in the night. There was _plenty_ worse to worry about.

  


She let out a long, shaking sigh and shifted the strap of the bag across her shoulders. This was not her idea of a good end to the night, walking home alone while her arms and legs felt like jelly and her eyes still stung. The desire to scream was there but it would accomplish nothing beyond hurting her throat. What she _really_ wanted was to break something, anything. Instead, with various keys set between various fingers as a makeshift tool for defense, Max started the walk home which, while alone, seemed a lot more imposing all of the sudden.

  


**Well, I wanted her to yell, didn’t I? I wanted her to be frank about whether she was pissed or not. Now she has been. What if she’s been trying to tell me for a while and I was just too oblivious to fucking notice? It all came on quick. Everything was fine a couple days ago right? I kept my mouth shut and she was smiling. We were having fun, smoking, watching TV, talking about each others’ jobs and shitty coworkers, all that shit. Everything was fine.**

  


The scariest thing about her walk to the apartment was when she found herself putting the key in the lock without really remembering much about the trip. Still, she was safe, firmly at home. Everything was fine. Right? Right. _I’ll go to sleep, wake up and it will be Friday morning again. No shitty phone calls, no fights, no pissed off Chloe. Yeah, right. That’s bullshit and you know it._ Max contemplated leaving the door unlocked to make it easier on Chloe whenever she eventually drunkenly stumbled up the stairs. _Assuming she does._ For better or worse she found herself to be--among scarier emotions--fucking terrified and locked the door behind her.

  


For a couple of minutes Max stood in the entrance feeling out of place as her eyes swept the living room and kitchen over and over. It was as if this was someone else’s home, someone else’s life and she was an intruder in the night, creeping in while they slept to _fuck everything up_. Eventually frustration welled back up and she crossed the room to the couch, collapsing onto it like a pile of bones, one which could do little more than repeat, ‘ _Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this!’_ For what felt like the hundredth time over the last month, she buried her face in her hands and let loose cries of irritation and fear, not to mention tears that she would not have wanted to show in front of Chloe under most circumstances, much less a fight.

  


**Everything is gone. This is all there is. There is no amazing future waiting on me. I’m not going to do anything of note, I’m not going to be some famous photographer. I don’t have Arcadia Bay and I sure as hell can’t go back to Seattle like this. Chloe is everything that I have. She is the only thing that has any meaning anymore. I can’t do this without her. I don’t even know what ‘this’ would be without her. I’ve got to fix this. It’s too late to rewind. So I have to talk to her. I have to say and do whatever it takes to fix things and I can’t rely on rewinding to not fuck this up.**

  


Somehow, neither organizing her thoughts like this nor having a rage and a cry seemed to focus her. It would be an understandable feeling if she had spent any actual time or money drinking that night. Once she could control her shaking limbs and body, Max leaned down and untied her shoes, putting them aside and adding her socks to the impromptu pile shortly after. A small pillow on one end of the couch would suffice for the night but Max had to retrieve a spare sheet from the bedroom. It wasn’t even a temperature thing, she simply felt unable to sleep without something covering her, it made her feel too open to the world even if ‘the world’ was a dark, empty apartment.

  


As she shuffled back into the living room, a vibration in her pocket was the warning she needed to shove the folded sheet beneath her left arm before the ringing began. She felt pitiful in how eager she was for the call, how relieved she felt that Chloe might be trying to reach out to her so soon after the argument and how terrified she was about what the woman might want to say. Fumbling to answer the phone with one hand, she lowered herself on the couch and raised it to her ear.

  


“Chloe?” Max asked, hopeful. A woman’s voice answered, but it wasn’t Chloe. She wasn’t sure at all who it was. When the woman spoke, it was with a tone of severity and finality. The words were simple but carried a threat with them which made Max shift uncomfortably on the usually fairly accommodating couch.

  


“Max Caulfield, you have something that belongs to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get it back. Consider this your second warning. You’ve already had your first.” Max leaned forward but before she could respond the line went dead.

  


“Right,” Max told the empty apartment around her as she set her phone down on a bedside table. “That’s precisely what I need tonight. Nonsense scary phone calls.” More convinced than ever that she needed to just go to sleep, Max unfolded the sheet with hands that still shook and covered herself up to her shoulder after adding her jeans to the pile of clothing by the couch. She inhaled slowly and deeply, then exhaled. _It’s okay, Max. It’s probably just one of the trolls that the news brought out after the coverage about Arcadia Bay. They were everywhere. Someone’s probably just sleuthed around, got your number and called to freak you out. This isn’t the first time. Just_ breathe _._

  


Breathe she did.

  


When she opened her eyes the next morning, it was accompanied by the arrival of a feeling of deep, profound loneliness almost immediately. It didn’t help anything when she realized she was lying alone on the couch and not in bed with the woman she loved. The night before came back with great prejudice and detail considering her emotional state. Max shoved the sheet aside and sat up, quietly. A look around the living room and what she could see of the kitchen showed very little sign that Chloe was there and up and active. She blinked, clearing the sleep form her eyes before looking toward the front door. It was early enough still that not a lot of light was coming in through the windows. Still, there was enough to see a pair of boots by the door. She sagged forward, exhaling in some relief. _There’s still a chance._

  


Judging by the way one boot was about two feet in front of the other on its side, though, chances were that Chloe took them off in a bit of an inebriated state. After a moment of considering whether she ought to turn over and go back to sleep, Max decided against it. There was all the reason in the world to assume she might sleep through the alarm in the other room and even more to think that Chloe might, given that it was her day off and she was likely to be hungover. It was time to get up and get ready for the day, however badly she wanted to cancel it and wait in silence with only her own panic for company for Chloe to get up.

  


With a couple of aspirin clenched in one hand and a glass in the other, Max pushed the door to their bedroom open and peeked in. Chloe was fast asleep and it was _not_ a graceful sleep. At least it was pretty rare for her to snore. A muted smile ghosted across her face as she took in the messy-haired woman half contorted in a way that was sure to leave her arms sore when she woke up. Carefully, she deposited the glass and aspirin on top of the crate that served as a bedside table and then turned off the alarm. She was able to quickly fish clothes from the closet and dresser without making a noise capable of waking her girlfriend and hurried to shower.

  


Barring an appetite or anything to look forward to, when it came time to go downstairs and open the shop that is precisely what Max did. She felt good about resisting the urge to look in on Chloe. She felt confident. There was still time to fix things up, she just had to do what _anyone else_ would do: sit down and talk about what she did to piss Chloe off. If it was about Arcadia Bay, the discussion would be far darker and there was nothing she could do to fix things. If it was something else, anything else at all, Max just had to shut up and listen.

  


Technically, she opened the door to the studio about a minute _after_ opening time but was still surprised when the landline started to ring before the front door closed behind her. _See, this is a good sign._ It was as if every little thing that could be taken as a positive was amplified after the absolute mess that was the night before. Her throat felt raw from yelling the night before but she hoped she didn’t sound too haggard when she answered.

  


“Studio Arcadia, how can I help you today?”


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today, being that one was shorter. 

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money or special proliferation, here.

 

* * *

 

Some time shortly after one thirty, Chloe stopped outside the door to the studio. She felt a bit shaky, still, but the remaining churning of her stomach was probably down to a need for food as much as anything else. A quick glance through the glass showed Max on her laptop but no sign of a client anywhere to be found. With some relative peace and quiet, she thought she might be able to start this off right and keep her cool. It would be so easy to pretend to have forgotten last night in a drunken black out but really that wasn’t her style. Besides, their relationship and, indeed, friendship had already been marred by too many lies. Chloe opened the door and stepped in quietly, in time with the soft chime of the bell overhead. 

 

“Hey,” Max greeted her, quietly. Chloe took in the sight of the woman, very clearly disheveled and put one edge by her presence. Upon looking up and seeing her, Max’s face became sheet-ghost white. “How do you feel?” The question was innocent sounding enough but could have meant any number of things: was she ill, was she still angry, was she about to hurl on the floor of the studio and leave Max to clean it up? Chloe shook her head and hoped that the ambiguity of the answer matched the ambiguity of the question. It wasn’t out of pettiness, it was simply because she did not know what was going on, but it was time to find out.

 

“Any appointments for a while?” she asked.

 

“Nothing all day. The minute I walked in my three o’clock called to cancel.” Max laughed and Chloe tried very hard not to hear a bitter note in her voice. Nothing that set her on a defensive edge could be made a focus, even if Max was having an otherwise lackluster day. “What’s up?”

 

“I need you to close up for lunch and come talk to me. It’s important.” The request hung in the air, though she hadn’t precisely phrased it like a request. It was not something to be taken lightly. Chloe, in the mood she was in at the moment, was nothing to be taken lightly. “Please,” she said, reminding herself not to beg, reminding herself not to be angry, or upset. There was going to be time for that, gathered around the kitchen table and finally telling the truth.

 

Max didn’t look conflicted so much as she gained that typical deer in the headlight look. Though her toes curled and uncurled in her boots from nerves, Chloe tried to remain still and patient. Eventually, without really responding, Max closed her laptop and pulled her keys from her pocket. Behind Chloe, just below the open/closed sign was a card which was blank on one side and on the other read, “Out to lunch, back at - ‘ and bore a crude rendering of a clock. She flipped it without bothering to look at what time it said. Patience became harder when Max tried hard not to brush against her as they exited and the photographer locked up her studio. In fact, the distance Max seemed to try to put between them put her further on edge than even her roiling stomach.

 

They climbed the staircase to their front door in equal silence and a few steps apart. If Max wanted space for some reason, if she was angry or hurt, then fine, she would have her space. Chloe shut the door behind them and didn’t bother to remove her shoes as Max did. Instead, she poured a couple of glasses of water and—feeling far too like her own mother when angry at some stunt she had pulled—sat them on opposite sides of the kitchen table before sitting down herself. Max joined a few seconds later, having discarded her bag. Then, to Chloe’s surprise, she spoke first.

 

“You start. I can tell you have something to say.” Max was right about that. Everything she had wanted to say for the last three months rushed to the tip of her tongue at once. Every moment of frustration, of loneliness, of sadness or anger passed in front of her eyes. In the end she raised her glass and drained half of it without meaning to. She had a momentary desire to burn before this all started but at this point it would be cowardice to back down, even for a moment. Max was sitting opposite of her, looking so  _fucking_ scared. Maybe, for once, she had something to be scared of when it came to Chloe. She summoned all of her courage and  _hated_ the half-sob that escaped instead of a blunt proclamation.

 

“I can’t fucking  _do this,_ ” Chloe looked down as Max crumpled forward. She knew instinctively what Max was thinking and while she clearly had the wrong impression, Chloe couldn’t put Max before herself, not right then, not in this. “I get it, I get that there are things you have trouble talking about but I can’t sit here and deal with any more lying. I can’t pretend I don’t see you crying, I can’t pretend you don’t look sick to your stomach whenever anything about fucking  _Oregon_ is mentioned, much less Arcadia Bay. I can’t pretend Arcadia Bay didn’t happen. I can’t pretend my life started when we found this apartment. I won’t! I can’t do it anymore.”  _Tears? Fuck that! I didn’t sign up for crying._ She rubbed at her eyes.

 

“I didn’t just magically come into being a few months ago. My mom existed. My house existed. My dad existed. Rachel existed. So did every horrible thing about Arcadia Bay.” Max raised her glass to her lip with a shaking hand as Chloe watched her. “So if that’s what you want me to pretend, that it didn’t happen just because you  _hate_ it, I’m sorry. I can’t! I know you hate it. I hate it. I hate what it does to you. I hate what it did to you. I hate what  _I_ did to you. But it all happened and if I go back to pretending I can live without talking about it I’m going to lose my  _shit,_ Max.” The glass slipped from the brunette’s fingers but mercifully didn’t have far to fall, landing on its bottom and spilling very little.

 

“Chloe, I-”

 

“Hold on,” she felt bad about interrupting, given how shaken Max clearly was. “I meant to say this first, but I’m really out of it. The night before last when you stuck that picture in my pocket for me to find? I thought the message on the back meant you were ready to talk about what happened. When you didn’t yesterday, I didn’t know what to make of it. I got upset. I lost my cool last night and I really  _am_ sorry.”

 

“What picture?” Max asked, brow furrowing. “I didn’t put any picture in your pocket.” Chloe stiffened. This wasn’t the sort of thing Max would lie about. Max typically didn’t lie. Chloe reached down and fished it out of her pocket where she had transferred it when she woke up, sliding the picture across the table. It was simply a photo of Chloe herself, dancing, smoking, back in her room in Arcadia Bay. “Where the  _hell_ did this come from?” Chloe felt perplexed at the question but chose not to pursue it any farther.

 

“Your journal, remember?” she answered. Max’s face twisted again, but eventually she nodded and answered, ‘oh, yeah,’ in a confused, quiet tone. “You’re saying you didn’t give it to me?” Max shook her head, not touching either her glass nor the photo but looking down at it on the table as if she couldn’t quite believe it was real. This behavior was disturbing. “If you didn’t,” Chloe started, feeling as if the conversation was getting away from her, “who did?”

 

“Thursday night, I was in the kitchen,” Max said, “and I thought I heard you come back early. I heard the door open and close but you weren’t there. When I looked around, you weren’t anywhere. You came back like an hour later or so?” Her face seemed to pale more, if at all possible. It was enough to give Max the look of someone becoming rather ill. “ _Fuck._ ”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I got a call last night. Someone telling me I had something of theirs. They said they’d already warned me once.” Max exhaled a long shaky breath. “Someone was in our  _fucking apartment._  Probably one of those legend tripping  _fucks_ who used to go walking around Arcadia Bay with cameras.” Max went from afraid and upset to angry in record time. “Son of a  _bitch!_ ” This time Max stood up and walked away from the table. Chloe wondered where she was going but eventually the woman stopped in front of the fridge and came back with a beer. The sight made Chloe’s already upset stomach turn, but she didn’t say anything as Max sat down and opened it. “Look,” the woman seemed to be trying to marshal herself as she took a long drink.

 

“Look,” she repeated, her voice softening. “I need to know something.” Chloe nodded when Max looked at her with eyes that looked more stone gray than blue. After a moment, instead of asking her question, Max rose to her feet again and left the kitchen. For a moment Chloe thought the woman was going to walk out the front door but there was a click and the sound of the deadlock engaging almost made her want to laugh. Leave it to Max to be pragmatic when someone was  _fucking with them._ When Max returned the stone behind her eyes looked cracked and ancient. “I need to know if you hate me for Arcadia Bay. For ‘Cincinnatus Day.’” The question wrapped in a statement seemed to sap the energy from her limbs as she sat. Feeling hollow, Chloe could only answer honestly.

 

“On the worst days, when we couldn’t talk about it and I missed my mom or my bed or Rachel, yes. Other days, I still think you’re some kind of super hero who saved my fucking life and then stayed part of it. You’re still all I’ve got. Most days, if I can be really honest, I wish I’d thrown myself off that fucking cliff the moment you wouldn’t go back to Blackwell and let me die.” Max’s eyes slid closed, her head tilting as if she was injured or begging to un-hear what she just heard. “Most of the time I just hate myself.”

 

“I hate myself lots of the time too,” Max answered after what felt like an eternity. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but the first time I went through the Tornado, I watched a lot of people die. A lot of people I know and cared about. Most of the shit the police guessed about how people died is a little off. I’ve read more of it than I probably should have. Some nights I make myself recall all of it, all of what happened because I wasn’t there: the explosion at the diner, all of the people on the street who got hit or crushed by something, all of it. I  _deserve_ to see that shit. So now that you’ve told me,  _I fucking get it,_ Chloe.” Strangely, the look Max gave her when she opened her eyes and looked up was a little bit more  _Max._ “But I was sure if I talked to you about any of this you’d just hate me. Who the fuck am I to be whining to you?” There was this note of hesitation, and then she added, “I’m so fucking sorry about Joyce!”

 

Chloe bumped the table harder than she meant to when she stood up. Max must have seen something in her eyes because she got to her feet too, though there was something that almost resembled fear in hers. Chloe reached out and grabbed hold of one of Max’s shoulders tight and leaned in, pressing her lips tight to Max’s. It wasn’t the most rational response and it was hard for Chloe to put words to the action but it had to say  _something_ right? It had to say, at the  _very_ least, ‘ _I love you.’_  She needed Max to know that, to know that they were still together, that she still loved her.

 

“No more fucking lies,” she said, as she pulled back. “No more pretending. Arcadia Bay happened. They all died. We’re here, we’re alive. That’s all because of you. We’re alive because of  _you._ Don’t you fucking forget it.” What followed was self indulgence as much as it was comfort, as she wrapped Max up. She probably ought to have felt embarrassed that the two of them stood there a jumble of arms and tears and half formed sentences for many minutes but she didn’t. Finally, mercifully she had gotten all that she expected from Max: simply honesty. They were actually talking. “I’m still intending to make you Mrs. Price, so don’t go thinking this means you’re getting out of that so easily, got me?”

 

“Yes, Mrs. Caulfield,” the attempt at a cheeky reply was probably half-hearted but it still made Chloe laugh.  _Yeah, as if._ She stepped back from her girlfriend and instead of take the moment to wipe at her own eyes she looked Max over and felt the tiniest bit of guilt. “What is it?” Max asked.

 

“Your eyes,” she answered. “Anyone who walks in to the studio for a bit is going to think someone broke your heart.”

 

“Someone did,” Max replied. “But she put it back together a few months ago.”

 

“Okay, too much cheese. You’ve got to work,” she reached out and took the can from Max’s side of the table, mostly playfully moving it toward the other side. “Now, I’m going to figure out what to do about whatever asshat’s been going through our  _shit_ and you’ve got to get back downstairs before some poor soul doesn’t get the Magic Max touch to their family photos.” This earned at least enough of a chuckle that Max seemed to stand on her own. “I’m serious, though. We cannot go back to the way things were. I won’t be able to handle that shit.”

 

“I promise,” Max told her, serious once again. “I mean it.”

 

“Me too,” Chloe answered.

 

“Chloe?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Go sleep off the hangover so I can spend tonight with you and not the ‘night after heavy drinking’ Zombie.” With that, Max grabbed her bag and unlocked the door. “And lock this behind me.” There was no humor to this part, and Chloe couldn’t blame her. She stepped up behind the woman and had every urge to grab her again, not let her go to work, not let her go for hours. Instead, feeling the slightest bit mischievous, she let a distracted Max walk out of the front door without her shoes and audibly locked the door behind her. She waited several seconds for Max to notice and counted out just enough time for her girlfriend to reach the bottom of the steps before she audibly began to hurry back up. “Chloe?” she asked through the door. “I need back in.”

 

“Sorry,” she called, “Can’t hear you. Hungering for brains over here.”

 

Eventually Max was properly clothed and safely back at work. While there were a lot of things needing to be talked about, Chloe felt a little less ill when she stepped out of the shower and settled onto the couch, not  _bothering_  to move the sheet atop it aside. There were a few mysteries to address that were not directly related to their relationship, now. The identity of whoever was fucking with them and precisely what they wanted was one thing, but what to do to guarantee their immediate safety was another. Calling the police remained an option and it wouldn’t take much to get rid of anything illicit that neither Chloe nor Max would want them to find. Still, what could they say in the end? ‘ _Hi, yeah, someone came into our house, went precisely to the closet, took a picture out of an old journal and stuffed it into my pants pocket.’ That’_ _d_ _go over well._

 

This did beg the question of whether anything valuable was missing. If not, that would suggest that somehow the person who did this had a fair guess that what they wanted was in the closet.  _Or,_ Chloe thought, getting to her feet.  _Maybe they were just being a perv, snooping around and found the journal. Fucking with us could have been a crime of opportunity._ She turned the photo over once, reading the hastily scribbled ‘ _Time to talk’_  on the back. In retrospect its resemblance of Max’s handwriting must’ve been far more superficial than Chloe thought.

 

She still held onto the picture as she hurried first to the bedroom. If their home invader was some simple, low tier pervert, Chloe was actually going to be somewhat relieved. That could be dealt with. More than that, the bedroom was the most likely place to find some evidence of it. The most obvious searches turned up nothing. There was no evidence to suggest anyone had been through their ‘unmentionables’ or even their sock drawers, which contained,  _of course,_ nothing but socks.  _Ri-iiiight._ Even their stash remained completely in tact, though it was immediately appealing when she turned her eyes on it. Instead of giving in and lighting up, Chloe crossed to the closet. Nothing looked out of place with the way the clothing hung besides Max’s gray hooded sweatshirt on the floor. Looking at the boxes stacked at the back Chloe was fairly certain none of them had been moved.

 

Whoever did this had chosen to put everything  _right_ back where they found it, except, apparently for the sweater. Chloe tossed it on the foot of the bed, not sure it wouldn’t make more sense after she had had a meal or a smoke or both. Feeling tired again despite having just woken up, she made a trip to the kitchen where just about anything else of value sat. Whoever was in their home must not have been in a snacking mood, because nothing in the fridge looked unusual, except that maybe they still had a bit more beer than they should.

 

In the end, the search for any sign of something being missing or even moved turned up nothing. So, there was little Chloe could think to do but to finally bake as she sat back on the couch contemplating the entirety of their conversation. She could say with some certainty it hadn’t gone exactly the way she expected nor as well as she hoped. In fact, on one level the fact that Max had so emphatically feared for their relationship probably ought to have been hurtful, instead it left her a little incredulous. She had said it once on Cincinnatus day and meant it: she never intended to leave Max’s side. As long as Max was still Max, that was going to be an easy promise to keep.

 

“Fuck,” she murmured, before reaching for her own bag by the couch. Discarded clothing lay half on top of it that she could only assume belonged to Max (uncharacteristic of the otherwise almost unbearably neat and tidy woman) and she set it aside, as it was neither a bother to her nor particularly her most important problem. The laptop inside booted up slowly, and Chloe sat staring blankly at the screen between hits long after it was ready to be put to the task she turned it on for. The idea of spending some time working on her lessons had been appealing even a few moments ago, but now it seemed closer to scaling an icy mountainside: dangerous and so not worth the effort. Instead, with thoughts of intruders and attackers in her mind, Chloe loaded up a browser and took note of their savings account.

 

It wasn’t something she felt great about under normal circumstances, digging into their savings. This was not a normal circumstance and acknowledging that consciously seemed to be about all Chloe needed to get moving. Her phone was somewhere in the area and a quick search turned it up without much turning things over or spreading them about the room. There was thankfully enough power left in the battery to send off a message to Blair, who would no doubt think she was being hit up for weed.  _Not today,_ Chloe thought, as she sent, ‘Need your help to get hold of something.’

 

No immediate response came and that was a bit frustrating considering Blair constantly carried her phone on her. After a few upsetting moments, it occurred to her that this was Saturday and Blair was in the kitchen at the diner, hardly able to drop what she was doing to answer every little message.  _So that’s a bust for tonight. I need to do_ something. Chloe sat the phone aside on top of the almost forgotten laptop and stood looking in vain around the living room before the answer ( _an_ answer) occurred to her.

 

It was certainly nothing to strike fear in the hearts of serial killers, but Chloe did pull their longest steak knife from the silverware drawer and give it an appreciative look. She carried it through to the bedroom and looked over the crates on either side of the head of the bed. The reality was that if something happened while they were laying in bed at night, if Chloe was really honest,  _she_ was the one who would be able to think about going for a weapon. Max had all kinds of courage but one of the real signs of some sort of intelligent cosmos was that she had been given magic powers and not a gun or a knife. Max didn’t think practically about things like guns and knives. Chloe set the knife on the crate and, after a moment of hesitating, cleared the rest of the debris off of it. A glass, an ashtray and a few discarded rolling papers later and Chloe could finally execute her ‘master plan.’ No one looking close would make any sense out of a pillow case laying over an old crate but hopefully on first glance any invader would be clueless that it concealed a weapon.

 

She put the papers and ash tray back in place before tossing the trash into a bin in the kitchen. That was hardly an adequate defense against an attacker but it was better than being woken up in the middle of the night by some creep leaning over your bed and having nothing but your hands and feet to flail at him. All she had to hope was that if worst came to worst, she could lean across Max with no issue. More steps needed to be taken to secure the apartment but the deadbolt and a knife were a good start. She figured with a screwdriver she could probably install a chain lock to just add one more degree of annoyance to the front door.  _Add that to what I’m taking from savings now._

 

This simple and possibly ineffective step aside. Chloe walked the apartment a couple more times trying to come up with something else she could use as a weapon. Instead, she found herself pacing the living room thinking of everyone in Arcadia Bay who might have held a grudge against her. Despite Max’s opinion that this was just one of the many freaks to come out of the woodwork about the ‘lost town’ there was an old paranoia, an old distrust about Blackwell Academy and Arcadia Bay.  _Frank probably wouldn’t hesitate to fuck with us, but I think we left things calm enough and this isn’t his style. Wells didn’t like me but would be too far into the bottle to bathe himself by this point. There are petty issues some people had but I can write those off. Not after all this. Maybe, David? I know he saved Max and she was pretty up on him and even in_ our  _timeline he helped a lot but he was fucking intense._

 

Max did say that the voice on the phone belonged to a woman and that really cut out each of those people. Besides, there was one even larger flaw with all of those thoughts: every last one of them had been killed. She and Max had identified David and Frank’s bodies from photos personally, not that they were pretty to look at. It was more fucked up that they had no one else to identify them than that she could still look back on them as having had grudges against her.  _Actually, David makes sense, like him or not you were his step-monster._

 

 _Well,_ she thought as she finally stopped moving,  _while we’re making questionable choices with savings…._ It took only a few seconds for her next phone call to get through, which, given the time of day was rather impressive. The number was taped to the fridge, mercifully and while the phone rang she sat at the kitchen table looking at the empty chair Max was sitting in only a few minutes before. Finally, the voice on the other line chimed in.

 

“Hello, this is Vanessa Caulfield, what can I do for you?” Chloe took a moment to draw half of a deep breath and put on her best ‘everything is really just alright’ voice.

 

“Hey, Vanessa, it’s Chloe,” Chloe had always been on good terms with Max’s family as Max had with hers. The day they showed up in Seattle in filthy clothing that had dried on their backs, holding each other on her parents’ couch probably still came as a bit of surprise to the couple. There was never anything official said about their connection with one another but the implication that she and Max were far more than friends was probably cemented by them moving together to Los Angeles instead of remaining in Seattle under the Caulfields’ tender love and care.

 

“Chloe, what’s up? You girls doing alright?” Several questions were probably wrapped into those but Chloe wasn’t in shape to unwrap that particular package.

 

“Yeah, except it’s been kind of a tough week for Max, you know, with work and me starting the new job,” whether the Caulfields knew they were lovers or not there was no way in hell she was going to open up to them about the sheer extent of the issues they were dealing with. Max wouldn’t possibly forgive her for that. “So, I’m trying to think of something to do for her. I wanted to make sure since it hasn’t come up: Max still likes to combat shitty times with Chinese and sweets, right?”

 

“Oh, that’s definitely still her go-to,” Vanessa agreed. “You’re pretty damned good to her, you know it?” Chloe laughed and agreed wholeheartedly. “Lucky girl. Anyway, before you run off for Chinese and cupcakes or something of the sort, I want to know seriously what you think of Max’s mental state.” Chloe could understand the blunt questioning. If she were in Carrie’s spot that she wouldn’t really want to let Chloe go without asking quickly.  _And you know Max isn’t telling her shit._

 

“Honestly? It’s not great. Life got a little better for a while out here, you know, keeping busy helps. A lot of bad shit happened that last week in Arcadia Bay. To a lot of us. I’m sorry to say I played a part in it. I mean, she’s nothing like she was when we got to Seattle.”

 

“Neither are you,” Vanessa interrupted. “It was like neither of you could manage a sentence to anyone but each other.”

 

“I guess we were in shock,” she replied, honestly. It was probably true. “I mean, we more or less watched an entire town die. We were just lucky we were on the edge. They still haven’t come up with any other survivors from the area.” Chloe exhaled, feeling uncomfortable. “Anyway, Max is getting better. I just think we’ve hit a snag, is all, and hopefully tonight we can talk about it and get started unsnagging.” When Vanessa didn’t respond immediately, she added, “Besides, I’m hella more stubborn than your daughter and I never let her forget it.”

 

“I’m sure you don’t. Thank you, Chloe.” Chloe shifted in the kitchen chair. “I better get off here before the boss walks by, but do me a favor: when Max is a little better off, tell her to call me. I don’t care if you have to knock her down until she does like when you were kids. Just get my daughter to tell me she’s okay.” Chloe nodded, then eventually realized she needed to answer out loud or it wouldn’t much matter.

 

“I will. Thanks Mrs. C. Before you go there’s something I wanted to say,” this was far from the moment she intended to bring this up, but eventually Vanessa prompted her to go on. “I think you should know, and you probably already do but Max isn’t really just my friend anymore.” Silence was waiting. “We had probably our first real fight last night. You know, while together. Either way, once we calmed down a little and we talked? Well, I just don’t think I can imagine being with anyone else. I hope you and Ryan are going to be okay with that.”

 

“Chloe, you were always good for Max in ways she couldn’t understand,” Vanessa spoke briskly and matter of factly. “I figured you for part of the family years ago, but, if the day comes you wanna make that official with certificates and rings and vows and things, all I ask is that you don’t elope. If I don’t get to embarrass my only daughter at a wedding party, I don’t think my heart can take it. Now I have to go.”  _When did I even decide to bring this up? When did I decide I was worried?_

 

“Bye, Vanessa.”

 

“Have a good night, Chloe and take care of yourself, too.” The line went dead and she laid the phone carefully down in front of her as the meager call time displayed across the screen and then vanished, leaving it to darken. Without meaning to, she started to laugh, eyes closing. To go through this many emotional states in the spread of about an hour had to be unhealthy.  _Well, if either of us was going to go nuts, it was always gonna be me._

 

Chloe took her time getting dressed in nicer clothing and brushing her hair, which she did acknowledge needed a new dye job, after all.  _Chinese and cupcakes it is._

 

 


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money or special proliferation, here.

Note: Happy Holidays! Hopefully someone considers this a perk to the holiday season. 

* * *

Outside the fifth of June was rising to an early start. Inside, a late night turned into a morning was coming to a close. Max paused at the edge of the living room, leaning against the wall beside the hall while she finished out a yawn. On the couch, Blair was shuffling a couple of pillows and a sheet about, trying to get comfortable while talking about her favorite part of the film they and Chloe had gone to see the night before. Max finished yawning and managed to squeak out an agreement that must have sounded half asleep when Blair looked up at her and waved her off.

 

“Duuude, you sound like you’ll pass out if you don’t get to bed. Besides, Chloe will be  _pissed_ if I keep you from bed, right? Wouldn’t want her to get jealous.” Max chuckled and stopped halfway from turning and saying goodnight.

 

“Speaking of, if you’re crashing here tonight, does that mean-”

 

“That my husband and his boyfriend are off on a romantic whirlwind adventure in San Francisco? Bitch, it  _better._ Mark and I spent so much time planning a surprise vacation that I started to get jealous he wasn’t taking  _me_ instead. Take my advice, Max, if you and Chloe ever find yourselves in some sort of poly situation, ditch your partner once in a while and hang out with your metamour. Life is so much better when you have good friends. Then again, I’ve also got you two.” Max nodded. She could imagine that a larger sort of network of friends and family had its benefits. “And a couch in a friend’s place is really better than home alone or sleeping in at my workaholic boyfriend’s while he works his seventy-third hour of the week.”

 

“You know, speaking of Jack, next time you talk to him, tell him I said thanks for helping Chloe out a few weeks ago,” she hated to change the subject from something relatively feel good to this, but it needed said. “She’s pretty freaked out about whoever broke into the place—by the way, the door is locked, I double checked.” Max probably just imagined Blair’s sharp eyes shoot toward the front door but just in case it was smart to reassure her.

 

“No problem-o,” she replied, seemingly relaxed as she took her glasses off and placed them on the table behind her head. Looking roughly in Max’s direction even though she was probably nothing more than a blur at that point, Blair continued, “You know you’re my buds. If anyone wants to fuck with you, I want you to fuck back, dig? Plus, no one better in LA to get a little toasted with.”

 

“You know,” Max added, interrupting the response with a yawn. “There was this guy I went to high school with, and come to think of it Chloe did too. His name was Justin. You’d have liked him, if he could stop drooling over Chloe long enough to actually hold a conversation with you.” Blair nodded sagely.

 

“He sounds like a zen dude,” she replied.

 

“He was.” Silence spread out between them and the moment seemed to chill rather drastically.

 

“Hey, look,” Blair adjusted her position, sitting up a bit more. “I’m glad you guys are talking about your past more. Without any info I was starting to imagine some sort of Romea and Juliet situation gone right, where you two had to take down a horde of people who didn’t want you together and then ran off or something.” Max had to swallow at how in a twisted way it was not so outlandish a theory. “But even still, you talk about everyone you know like they’re all dead.” It had never really come up, before but there was no particular reason to hide from Blair, pretty much her and Chloe’s only friend, their past.

 

“Well, thing is they are,” Max said, kneeling a bit with her back against the wall. At that, Blair sat up very suddenly and reached for her glasses. By the time she had them back on, her knees were pulled up and she was patting the couch beside her. There wasn’t any real hesitation, but this felt very  _strange._ As Max crossed the room to sit down a look back at the hall showed a curious, half-dressed Chloe standing a few steps into the hall. Max gestured her over, able to guess by the shadow across her face that their conversation was all too audible.

 

“Our friend Justin, almost everyone I knew, Chloe’s mother and step-father and everyone else in the town we came from is dead.” A low whistle escaped Blair’s lips. “This is pretty heavy shit for a bedtime story, you sure you wanna hear it now?” Blair took a moment to decide, face scrunching up as Chloe dropped into a sitting position on the ground in front of Max, legs crossing into a position that Max couldn’t help but think of ‘story time’ pose, like kids around a teacher for story time. When the woman nodded, Max continued. “Our town got hit by a tornado about eight months ago now,” she said, “it was a freak storm, came up all at once and as far as we can tell we’re the only two people within five miles of the storm to actually  _survive._

 

“You’re from that town in Oregon?” Blair asked, her voice mixed with awe and regret. “Arcadia, right?”

 

“Arcadia Bay,” Chloe corrected her. “The storm hit all at once and it wiped  _everyone_ out.” Max turned to look Chloe in the eyes, making sure she could watch her face when Max spoke.

 

“Thing is, a week before it happened, I  _saw_ it.” The confession felt like a release and to her credit, Chloe did not show any sign of reacting. “Or, I guess, I saw myself up by a lighthouse a couple miles outside the town as the tornado came in.” Unable to bring herself to tell the whole truth and seeing a surprising lack of incredulity in their friend’s face, Max finished with, “I wrote it off until shit started to hit the fan. Chloe and I were out driving. I told her to drive us as close to that lighthouse as she could. We watched it hit, got in the truck, called ambulances and left. Came here about a month later.” The hand Chloe had resting on her leg slid off as Max leaned forward.

 

Max stood, which took some careful effort so as not to step on her girlfriend. She turned to examine Blair who, short of seeming not to believe her, looked at her with that same sense of awe. Chloe on the other hand seemed notably nervous but not upset.  _Good, I’m glad. I like Blair. She’s a good friend._ The woman pushed a long dark lock back behind her ear and then let loose another one of those low whistles of surprise and leaned back, stretching her legs across the spot Max was just occupying as Chloe stood, herself.

 

“You were right, man, heavy shit, but it means a lot you’d tell me.”

 

“Of course,” Chloe said, her arm wrapping around Max’s shoulders. “I didn’t think she’d tell you all that, but let’s be real here. You’re kind of our best friend at this point. I’m glad you know what you know.” Blair gave another faux sage nod, along with a grunt that was supposed to suggest thoughtfulness then placed one of her legs atop the other and slipped both hands behind her head.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty fucking cool like that.” A chuckle pushed up through the foreboding in her throat, and Max shook her head, closing her eyes.

 

“Goodnight, Blair,” she said, slipping from Chloe’s grasp after pressing her hand to the woman’s back. Max left the two to talk for as long as they needed to. It was true that they weren’t inclined to go around telling everyone and their brother they were the infamous survivors of Arcadia Bay much less even a half truth about Max’s abilities but Blair was coming to mean more and more to Max and Chloe both. It went beyond the whole arrangement where occasionally she procured some herbs of clear illegality for them. She was Chloe’s work buddy who seemed to keep up with Chloe at her worst and when it came down to it she kept up with Max at  _her_ worst too.

 

Max settled into bed after stripping off extraneous clothing. In the humid warm night with only a window mounted air conditioner in the living room, that meant more or less everything but the underwear. The one thing she did not love about moving to LA was the sheer humidity which had worsened as summer moved in. She was just getting comfortable on her side when the door to the bedroom opened and then briefly later closed. Turning onto her back, Max looked across at Chloe as she tossed aside her tee and worked to the other side of the bed.

 

Face to face, each under a thin sheet, the two observed each other in silence, each giving off small smiles and thoughts both appropriate and not. It was nice to see that Chloe was genuinely alright with telling Blair about Arcadia Bay. It was nice to think that someone else, especially Blair, knew about this part of them and their past, had this more than vague idea of who they were and what they had been through. She didn’t ask what Chloe and Blair talked about and didn’t volunteer information about their own discussion. It wasn’t secrets, it was just them being two separate people which was something else they had been working on since their fight.

 

Sometimes not being constantly set at 11 on the sharing and the connection with one another was kind of disturbing but at the same time it made the end of the evening, sitting on the couch and pouring out their days or talking about their goals so much better. Besides, without the constant drama of dancing around one another she had to say she thought the relationship stronger.  _Honesty is actually a good policy. Who’d have thought?_

 

Her chuckle must have struck Chloe as some kind of challenge because she scooted closer. With a kind of eagerness she hadn’t expected to feel this late, Max leaned in and stole a kiss and then another. Eventually they were a tangle of arms and legs and Max was resting her head somewhere against Chloe’s neck, eyes shut. There was no staying like this all night or they would wake up overheated within the hour, but for just the moment Chloe was holding her and there really didn’t need to be a lot of thought given to anything else. In  _these_ hours it was not only fine but preferable to see and acknowledge little more than Just Chloe.

 

The threat of falling asleep after all grew worse when the fingers tracing through her hair slowed. If Chloe fell asleep like this, Max would not be able to pry herself away, no matter that they would both be awake and sweaty in short order.  _Fuck_ _ing_ _humidity,_ she mused running her hand down Chloe’s back once before tilting her head up. Sure enough, the woman’s eyes were closed and head leaning back. The better reasoning part of her brain fought the one that was perfectly fine in her girlfriend’s arms and it was not even a close battle. Damn the consequences, she stayed still. Let her arms and legs be stiff, let them both be uncomfortable in an hour. An hour from then didn’t exist, not with Chloe.

 

Max closed her eyes and listened to Chloe’s even breaths and heartbeat.

 

The next morning came with much half-playful arguing about whose fault it was they were covered in sweat and so who had to take the last shower, after Blair was done. Max took the blame after only a moment, because it was a fall she was willing to take for the woman she loved. Chloe laughed when she said as much. Dressed somewhat presentably, Max opened the door to their room and was instantly hit with the smell of  _bacon._ After a moment the scent registered on Chloe’s face and the woman rolled her eyes nearly back into their sockets beneath her bright blue locks.

 

“Every  _damn_ time,” she muttered. Max silently agreed but the smell was delicious and it was hard to complain, even if it was all in good fun. They came into the kitchen to find three plates already piled a little too high with scrambled eggs and lined with bacon. “How many times do I have to say it, Blair? You’re the fucking guest. We cook. Well, Max cooks. I cook enough at work.” This was a joke but Max had taken to ensuring that she was the one behind the stove a bit more often than in the past. This time, though, she didn’t even join in on the conversation, simply sat down.

 

Blair, for her part, was still wearing her clothes from the night before but had secured a hair tie from her pocket strong enough to hold the thick bundle of dark hair back as she cooked. With the help of the window-mounted air conditioner the living room and kitchen weren’t horribly hot even with the stove running. She didn’t bother to reply to Chloe either, perhaps being hungry or perhaps seeing that Max not saying anything was drawing the occasional half serious glare or pout from her girlfriend. Blair pointed their spatula at the table.

 

“Sit,” she said, “Both of you. I’m used to cooking for about four fully grown people some mornings. So there’s probably a bit too much there.” As soon as she said this, as if to add some comedic punctuation she dropped a couple more pieces of bacon from a pan onto Chloe’s plate. “But, bad news, I still expect y’all to eat it.” This seemed to be the defeat of Chloe’s halfhearted and completely ignored attempt to chastise the fry-cook. “Besides, you kept me company when I needed it and I feel like I owe ya.” Max swallowed a too large bite of bacon and toast.

 

“Not- oh, fuck,” she reached for her glass and took a large drink to clear a bit of toast that seemed determined to stick around. “I meant to say, you don’t owe us shit. Especially not Chloe, I’m pretty sure  _she_ still owes you about twenty bucks.” Blair waved her hand dismissively but Max did notice that she looked a little more tired than expected. Maybe their story last night had been a bit heavier for bed time than any of them expected. “For real, though, what are you getting up to the rest of the day?”

 

“Well,” Blair said, “I figure I’ll clear out of here soon since you’ve got work and Chloe has to get some studying in before work for her big day next week.” Chloe looked as if she was going to invite Blair to stay, but the older woman spoke over her. “And I think I’m gonna call Alan up and see if he’s gonna get off at a reasonable time this week, or if I’m going to have to see one of my electric boyfriends.” Max spluttered and came horrendously close to choking on an overlarge gulp of water. It had been a while since Blair managed to surprise her. “Aww, was that too much for your innocent ears?”

 

“Oh, honey,” Chloe said through a yawn and a grin. “There’s nothing innocent about any part of this woman. I saw to it.” Max shot a brief glare but quietly was thankful nothing more obscene was said instead. She ate while the other two talked about Chloe’s upcoming GED test. Personally, the thought of Chloe getting her GED and going out to find somewhere to take college courses made her feel a sort of satisfaction second hand. The moment Chloe told her about it, she knew it was already in the bag. Her girl was brighter than any of those clowns on staff at Blackwell gave her credit for. It was, though, a bit of a wake up call. Max felt she owed to herself and Chloe to keep up. She had been skating by taking photos that didn’t really fulfill her. Even though she still saw no grand future as an artist ahead of her, she  _needed_ to figure out what to do, what to attend for and what to use it for. This was one of those things she wanted to talk to Chloe about in private. Last night might have been a good time, but there had been unsurprisingly little talking once they actually laid down.

 

 _Try not to push yourself too hard, it’s kind of a been a bitch of a week. A wedding Friday, a movie Saturday, and now you’re reminding yourself you have to go through all those wedding photos. Oh, shit._ Max couldn’t summon the energy to feel guilty about not having started yet. There was something a bit monotonous about looking through hundreds of your own photos even of interesting moments in someone else’s life. She had been too exhausted and on edge to really be any kind of  _moved_ by the event but more than one business card had been passed to people in the crowd. She didn’t particularly expect it to turn up any new work but one could hope, especially considering anyone she gave out such a card to had received one at  _their_ request, finding it tasteless to really advertise at the wedding (or its unfortunately drunken reception) itself.

 

“So, doing anything next month?” Blair asked. “I’m having an interesting fourth of July. I’m going to be going to at least three family dinners.” Max might envy the network of support and care that Blair’s lifestyle came with but the intricacies that must be involved in being technically part of multiple extended families had to be tiring. “Mark’s parents are really kind of big on this whole Fourth of July thing. I may not see it the same way but I can’t complain about a good burger.” Chloe nodded and looked toward Max with the slightest hint of disquiet in her eyes.

 

“Well, Max’s mom and dad are coming down here for a few days around then so we’re pooling our days off and going to try to show them around. Thing is we haven’t really gone and shown ourselves around LA yet.” That was true, their recreation tended to be close to home and very simple, rarely anything expensive. Even a trip to the bar was a bit on the extravagant side when you could buy the cheapest beer on the shelf and watch movies. “We were thinking of going to some of the more… tourist-y parts of the city and then renting a car and going out to the beach.”

 

“You know, it is kind of a shame you’ve been here all this time and haven’t taken a trip to the shore yet. Like, yeah, I get it, it gets old over time and parking is a pain in the  _ass,_ but still. You’ve been here long enough.” Chloe shrugged a bit dismissively. It was  _kind of_ odd, Max had to admit. Then again, in a lot of ways Chloe was not really the ‘out in the sun’ type.  _Not that I go fucking tanning every chance I get._

 

“Well,” Max said, “Let’s just say we’ve lived next to the ocean for a long time.” That wasn’t entirely true of her, given that she spent so long in Seattle but the point remained. “I don’t exactly consider it… a positive experience entirely.” For just a moment Blair stopped with a fork halfway to her mouth and looked up at Max, as if trying to determine whether she was referencing Arcadia Bay and the absurd storm that blew in from the beach and leveled the town. The cook’s face danced across a few less than positive emotions before she seemed like she was going to try to change the subject. Max continued so as not to let her feel guilty over nothing. “But, you know, when they come to LA from Seattle they’re going to want a trip to the beach, and maybe it’s time we went back, too.”

 

Looking back at Chloe earned a soft smile and a nod. It probably would have made sense if either one of them turned out to be moderately terrified of the ocean that had once spat up a few dead whales on the beach days before a storm that leveled their home. Mostly, though, it just wasn’t anything  _special_ to either of them. It probably never would be, and Max was fine with that. She changed the subject herself, thanking Blair and spending a bit more time than strictly necessary singing her praise as the ‘best cook in the house.’ Blair occasionally pretended to preen under the compliments and Chloe, recognizing it for the teasing that it was, finally lightly jabbed Max under the table with her toe. That was all the signal she needed to stop but it was a little fun to get Chloe’s goat from time to time.

 

“Hey,” she said, “I’m gonna leave you two to duke it out over who gets the golden spatula. I need a shower. It’s getting late.” Or, as her father would have said, ‘It’s getting on in hours.’ Despite the good natured teasing, Chloe was loathe to let her out of the room without a kiss, so Max pressed one to her cheek and left them at the table talking about Blair’s plans for the fourth. Well, the upside to three family dinners would be that if someone’s cooking ended up being lacking there would probably be relief at the next, right?  _They should honestly just let Blair behind the grill. God, I hope dad doesn’t bring one with him. I love the guy to death but one more dry, burnt hamburger and I’m going to really not care for ‘grill’ holidays._

 

Blair was gone by the time she peeked around the corner into the kitchen. Then again, there was no Chloe to be found either which was momentarily disconcerting until a hand on her hip turned her around. The two exchanged little more than a brushing of hands this time as Chloe passed her, half of an outfit under one arm. Max dressed quickly, not out of any desire to hurry downstairs to the studio but because she didn’t know what else to really do if she wasn’t cooking or cleaning up and the empty sink freed her of obligations on the latter. Mornings were not usually the best time for her to be idle. Her mind tended to wander to places it just shouldn’t, to faces it shouldn’t and television was a poor distraction in the morning. It was all politics, ads or the frequently depressing news reports about some poor soul found in his car dead of an OD or some sort of shooting.

 

 _Sometimes,_ she thought as she inevitably ended up flipping through the channels anyway while waiting for Chloe to come out of the shower,  _I think the world really IS fucked up._ The only reprieve seemed to be the Sci-Fi channel which liked to fill its mornings with absolutely corny flicks that really gave  _Sharknado_ a run for its money as far as pure narm. She was watching some genre unsavvy teenagers arguing as they broke into an old factory when Chloe finally emerged, still working at her hair with the towel. Not at all sad about turning away from the mild distraction, Max patted the seat beside her and leaned back as Chloe joined her.

 

“So,” she said. “Shift at the hotel?” Chloe probably nodded but it was lost in the act of drying at her hair. Max smiled, shaking her own head slightly. It wasn’t like Max kept her hair long but in comparison Chloe’s was positively short and yet she always seemed to take a long time getting it dry. Maybe she was just more careful with it, who knew? “Is Calvin still a prick?” she asked, voice darkening. “You haven’t mentioned him a few days.” The towel half obscurring her girlfriend’s face stopped moving and then dropped. With her hair wild and in need of a brush, she turned to Max and the apparently building rant started.

 

“Who the  _fuck_ even names their kid Calvin anymore?” she asked, though it was most certainly a rhetorical question. “Like, who says, ‘I think I want my kid’s name to sound like he’s a 50 year old snooty English yacht owner. That won’t come back to bite him or anything?’” Max shook her head a little but said nothing in particular. Her words were mean and normally Max chastised her for such behavior but it was coming from a place of trying to find humor in genuine hurt. “Meanwhile, the result is this scrawny little fuckboy--” Max tried to chide her, but Chloe spoke right over her. “who thinks he’s the cure to homosexuality?  _Fuck_ Calvin and really, fuck whoever in his life was supposed to punch him in the teeth and missed their appointment.” In the end Max chuckled and reached over to run her fingers through Chloe’s hair once or twice, doing her best without a brush. “Damn, that feels good.”

 

“Shit talking your douchebag manager or what I’m doing?” Max fired back, leaning closer.

 

“Yes,” Chloe replied emphatically. Shaking her head, Max leaned back, patting the woman on the leg. “Hey now, don’t go starting an engine you don’t have time to work on.”

 

“Alright, you pervert.” Digging her phone out of her pocket, Max checked the time and let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m going to get downstairs and try to clean the place up or something before my ten o’clock gets in. I probably ought to get to work on sorting through the wedding photos and getting them backed up too. I don’t think there were too many so blurry they need tossed.” When she stood up Chloe followed suit and rather than any kind of extended goodbye she gave Max a pat on the shoulder and told her to ‘be good’ before heading into the bedroom.

 

Knowing they would have a brief chance to talk before Chloe left for work, Max put her shoes on at perhaps a slower pace than usual, the looming job of digging through someone else’s wedding photos being rather unappealing to hurry to. As it so happened she probably opened the doors to the studio something around a minute or so late, but, with no early morning appointments there wasn’t anyone around to disappoint. Business had, in fact, picked up from where it was only a couple months prior. There was something to be said for advertising on social media and plastering every light pole for miles with fliers.  _Also, I guess word of mouth really isn’t the worst advertisement._ Sighing, Max sat her bag down and glanced toward the closet at the back where she kept a mop, bucket and broom.

 

 _No. That’s the easy way out,_ she told herself as she opened the laptop and dug around in the drawer of her desk. Before the computer was even well booted up she produced the SD card used for the wedding photos. In a few simple clicks the folder was opened and small thumbnail previews of nearing two hundred pictures populated the screen in front of her.  _Well, I’m in it now,_ she thought, before bringing a pen and a pad of paper closer to her and opening the first. She was just finishing checking the first row of photos when a light on the old landline across the desk caught her attention.  _You_ _k_ _now, I’d be a poor business owner if I didn’t check my messages. Especially being, you know, my only employee. No one else to do it, right?_

 

The reprieve was likely to be short lived but she reached for the phone with a slightly higher mood than she sat down with. The first message was from someone who was apparently in the wedding party and wanted to see about procuring her services for some charity event.  _It probably won’t pay, then,_ she thought. At this point she was far more open to the idea than she might have been otherwise.  _Word of mouth, and all that,_ she thought as she took down the woman’s phone number. To her credit once the request was made the woman leaving the message did her best to observe the niceties. This was plenty more than the next caller had bothered to do.

 

“Hello, Max,” Max knew the voice immediately from the call she received in mid April. “I’ve warned you, haven’t I? Consider this your last warning. You have one week left to give back what you took, what you never  _deserved_ and if you don’t, I will be coming for you. I promise. You won’t like it. Do not underestimate me, Max Caulfield.” The message cut there and Max found herself slamming the receiver down harder than intended.  _Son of a bitch,_ she thought,  _I really should have just gone through the fucking pictures. I don’t want to deal with this today. Fucking psycho._ Chloe was really disturbed the last time this happened. It had been enough to drive her to get her hands on a gun through not-so-legal means. Sometimes, Max thought about asking why she didn’t do it the legal way but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the answer.

 

Max tried to go back to the photos, tried to just sit there and sift through pictures to mark out those that were no good. Unfortunately, for each photo she managed to look through in relatively good time, she found herself staring half-spaced at another two for minutes on end. While frustration was not the dominant feeling in her mind it was damn sure the one that showed the most on her face and in her movements as she tapped her fingers against the desk, over and over, mind firmly lost in the question of who kept calling them. More than that, assuming this  _was_ the same person who broke into their apartment, what did they want?  _More important yet,_ she finally concluded as she gave herself over to her fears,  _Where did they get that photo of Chloe and why? It should be gone._ Her stomach churned.

 

Max was still unsettled and not as far as she should be through the relatively simple task in front of her by the time that Chloe walked in around nine in the morning. Even hearing the tinkling of the bell above the door Max took a moment before she lifted her head, lost in thought enough that the sound had no  _context._ In fact, by the time she pieced the cause of the sound together, Chloe was already behind the counter, approaching her little desk. A small folding chair that Max usually used to hold hard copies of portraits was quickly occupied by the punk instead.  _And in typical punk fashion, there she goes,_  Max mentally grumped as the woman put her booted feet on the desk.

 

“Well, Ms. Caulfield, don’t you have anything to say to your  _lover_?” Almost immediately after the flippant response to her silence came out Chloe seemed to see trouble in the way her face was set and quieted down, becoming a lot more somber. “What is it, Max?” Max gestured useless to the phone once and then, realizing this meant very little to the woman across from her turned on the speaker and played the offending voicemail, without speaking a word. They were met with absolute silence, earning a loud curse.

 

“I think I deleted  _both_ fucking messages,” Max finally said, leaning forward to press various buttons, anything to call the audio back up. “Someone called,” she finally said when the urge to throw the phoen passed without seeing the outdated thing crash against the wall and shatter into pieces. “The same woman from before, the one who was in our house. She threatened me this time. Whatever I have that she thinks is hers, she says if I don’t give it back within a week she’s coming and I ‘won’t like it.’” Chloe listened with a raised eyebrow at first but it was easy to see her typical jovial face twisting, darkening as Max continued. Instead of pausing, Max let out the ball of anxiety pitting in her stomach as a jumble of words.

 

“Whoever this is is really getting on my nerves,” she admitted. “I get it,” Max cut across any response that might be coming, “I get that I should be scared and, you know, I am, but right now I’m just pissed. Why can’t we just be left alone? I thought this was over after my dad had to send that crowd of assholes in the front yard packing. What kind of asshole actually tries to sneak a picture of us through a window, right?” Chloe nodded, then opened her mouth as if to speak. “I just want this woman to leave us alone.”

 

“Max, maybe it’s time to consider the cops,” the almost disgusted face Chloe made as she said the words betrayed just how deep her distrust of authority ran. This would have been especially noteworthy at any other moment because that was one question Max had always been afraid to ask in the face of opening up a can of worms that neither might know how to close again. “I know we’ve been dubious in the past and they were a  _fucking success_ at their jobs in Seattle, but this is different. This isn’t people following us while we’re out or calling asking for interviews or even waiting on your folks’ lawn. This is someone threatening you now and whoever she is has probably been in our place.” Max nodded along but when Chloe stopped speaking she threw her hands up.

 

“Well, I just deleted the  _damn_ message,” Max said, half admonishing herself. “To top it all off we really have no proof someone was in our apartment other than a picture we can’t really explain and I don’t want to have to figure out how to talk to the cops about that.” Again, Chloe seemed like she was about to speak, brow furrowing as if she was confused or thinking hard about something. “I know, it would be the smart call, but I don’t think they can do  _fuck_ about it. Even when they called the cell a few weeks back it was an unlisted number.” Seemingly defeated for a moment, the other woman shrugged.

 

“Fine, we won’t do it this time, but if she so much as calls you again, that’s it. We’re going to the police, because I’m not going to have someone hurting  _either_ of us. If we have to work together to make up any stories to give the cops so they don’t ask too much about Arcadia Bay, then we will.” Chloe brought her feet down in two thumps that weren’t meant to be loud, but due to the weight of the boots simply were. She leaned in, making sure to hold Max’s eyes. “I’m serious. Say it.”

 

“If she calls again,” Max muttered, “we’ll call the cops. I don’t think they’ll do fuck all, but I’m so tired of her shit. I wish I knew what she looked like so I knew who to photograph or something. I’m sure she probably walks by the studio or the apartment sometimes to watch us. Seems like the type.”

 

“When did you get to be such a cynical badass, Max Caulfield?” Chloe seemed to be more relaxed after getting an agreement to go to the police out of her. Max tried not to feel bitter about that, because the thought of going to the police just added to the little bundle of nerves she had to deal with. “Because I like it. I am so glad you came back to Arcadia Bay when you did. I was clearly a good influence on you.”  _Also,_ Max started, but Chloe spoke the thought before her. “Also the whole, you turning into a super hero and saving my life thing.” A genuine smile lit up Chloe’s face when Max laughed.

 

“I don’t know,” the photographer finally replied. “I guess it’s the company I keep. I kind of get the feeling that I want to say, ‘fuck the man,’ too, but you’re the one suggesting we rely on them.” Chloe mocked being wounded, pulling an invisible knife from her chest. Instead of bothering to try to go right back to sifting through the folder on the laptop in front of her, Max sat back and just talked. The two passed several minutes in conversation this way, Max coaxing her to talk about how she was feeling about the GED test and Chloe (perhaps in retaliation) noting the brochures she found for a community college in the area on a table in the living room. Max didn’t want to tell Chloe that the brochures had angered her because she couldn’t seem to decide what kind of degree to pursue.

 

In the end, though, all good things must pass. While Max trying to squeeze information from Chloe as to what they should do next week to celebrate the test being behind her, the door to the studio opened. With a tinkling that threatened to get on her nerves, it admitted her noon appointment in at somewhere around 11:30. Chloe stood up in time with Max, shouldering her bag. Max had been a bit concerned once, about showing affection to Chloe in front of strangers but that time was long past. She leaned over and pecked the punk on the cheek as she readied to leave before greeting the teenager sauntering in.

 

“Hi there,” Max greeted. “You’re Sandy, right?” The girl entered, letting Chloe slip by her and out into the street. Unsure if it was in place, Max firmly affixed her ‘dealing with the public’ visage to her face. “I’ve got time now if you’d like to get started early?” It was only when the teen, dressed as if she were going to church remarked that ‘of course’ Max had time, ‘the shop was empty except for your lesbo,’ that Max toned down the customer service efforts and mentally marked a ‘ _first strike_ ’ in the girl’s record. From that point on, she gave instructions in short, concise and formal language, took photos as best she could and tuned out anything the girl said that didn’t immediately sound relevant to the photo at hand. This seemed to be fine until after she took about the third shot and the girl stood up, pointing to a bag she had discarded on a seat by the door before coming in.

 

“I’ve got another outfit, is there anywhere I can get changed where,” her voice trailed off, as if there was just enough decency in her not to voice the accusation that Max might spy on her. Without speaking, she gestured to a screen on the far side of the room and returned to the desk behind the counter. “Whatever,” the girl muttered. “Don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

 

_Oh, it’s going to be a long day, isn’t it?_

 

Max was none-too-quietly cursing her choice to start dinner so early when she looked down and saw the time. Somehow she still had occasion to forget that Chloe’s shifts in the hotel kitchen started and ended at rather odd times, resulting in her typically coming home around nine at night.  _And it’s only six._ Not having anyone to hear her grumble, Max sat down in the living room, leaving dinner to cool. After a moment she fished her phone out with the intent to send Chloe a message to be checked when she got off, but the idea passed quickly. Instead, possessed by a macabre feeling, she opened her messages and for the first time in a long time started to sort through the old, locked texts that kept her inbox at 70% of capacity at all times.

 

It felt a bit voyeuristic to go through them, but she still occasionally did. In these little threads of conversation she got a look at how a Max Caulfield that must have lived  _years_ ago, not months, worked with the world around her. Things were so different then, even when the messages got to that span of the hell week that ended Arcadia Bay’s existence and the lives of almost everyone whose messages she was reading. The Max Caulfield of September and October of last year was freshly an adult, eager, infatuated with her professor ( _a fucking creep,_ she tried to warn past Max through the phone screen) and had so much  _joy._ She was so happy. Max wondered if they would even recognize each other as the same person on the street.

 

_Be careful what you ask for, Max._

 

**You know, Warren was a total nerd. I used to think that there was no reasonable problem he couldn’t come up with a solution to. He even found a few for the unreasonable problems. I feel like I should have told him I used his advice to blow into Wells’ office that night. There’s no way he wouldn’t have gotten a kick out of it, once he got done making some corny joke about my blooming delinquent status. I’m really sorry, Warren. You deserved to go onto bigger and better things. Also, I really wish you’d just gotten to take Brooke to the drive-in. She would have loved it.**

 

Max shook her head and set the phone aside rather than go too far down memory lane. It was not an entirely pleasant thing, to contemplate that Max or Warren or anyone else in Arcadia Bay, but remembering Brooke’s dogged pursuit of her fellow science nerd put a smile on her face.  _You know, I really think I ought to keep a journal again. It might help me work some of these things out. If Jefferson hadn’t left my old one in ashes I wonder what it would have looked like having Old Max and New Max writing side by side._ She let the thought pass as little more than idle curiosity, instead chasing a nagging feeling in the back of her head that she was forgetting something.

 

For one paranoid moment she thought maybe the potatoes were still in the oven but glancing into the kitchen at the tin-foil wrapped container on the counter settled that concern. Shrugging it off, Max decided it was just going to have to be one of those feelings whose source remained a mystery. She had been having those feelings a lot lately and wondered if they were common in lots of people, kind of like  _deja vu_. After a moment of sitting in silent contemplation, Max realized something: she was  _bored. Holy shit, I haven’t been genuinely bored in a long time. What’s wrong with me? Shouldn’t I be freaking out about that call? Alright Max, normal people who get off work, cook dinner, feel tired and bored don’t sit and over-analyze it. What_ do  _they do?_

 

Max flipped on the television. They had a very basic cable package to go with the six year old tv and the rickety stand it sat on. This meant that, other than primetime, their choices tended to be limited to a smattering of syndicated sitcoms. It was, however, just about prime time. As she flipped through the channels, Max thought,  _and this is what you do in place of having a journal to write in or a book to read. When you’re out at the store tomorrow, buy a damn journal, Max Caulfield. If nothing else, go get a notebook. It’ll probably help._ Three or four procedural cop dramas that typically depressed her more than entertained her passed by as she shifted through stations and eventually settled on a channel showing a  _That 70’s Show_ marathon.  _Or better yet, Max, buy a journal then go find a good book to read._

 

Chloe unlocked the door to the apartment somewhere about ten minutes into the start of the fourth episode of the antics Point Place, Wisconsin’s youth were getting up to. Max was not so absorbed in the show as not to hear it but it was a surprisingly near miss. Perhaps it was paranoia but they had both taken to paying  _a lot_ more attention to any given odd noise, especially as evening approached. Then again, Max thought it could hardly be paranoia given that someone had actually broken into their house and was now making threats against her. Max stood up.

 

Chloe had taken enough steps to shut the door behind her before leaning against the wall, a hand over her face. It would have been easy for someone who didn’t know Chloe to mistake her weariness for drunkenness. Sometimes she could only spend so many hours on her feet before she just subconsciously didn’t want to stand anymore. As Max approached Chloe shot her a smile and a greeting but instead of responding Max wrapped her arm around the woman and nudged her forward insistently until she eventually allowed herself to be lead to the couch. Once she was sat down, Max knelt in front of her and took a moment to untie those  _damn_ heavy boots she insisted on wearing.

 

“Well, I should come home with sore feet more often,” Chloe quipped. “Oh wait.” Max set the boots aside carefully, knowing just how much the woman cared for them before leaning up to place her lips against Chloe’s hand and then getting up to settle beside her. “Jeeze, Max, relax. I’m just a little beat, that’s all.”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just glad to see you,” instead of following through on various urges, Max got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen. “Baked potato and a burger?” she called. “If you want something else I can toss it together.”

 

“Nah, that actually sounds great,” Chloe’s voice was tinged with relief and for maybe the second time Max got the suspicion that she might have been denied a break and unable to eat. That would help explain her being a little more tired than usual. “Do we have sour cream?” she called.

 

“Of course not,” Max replied as she let the microwave warm up the potatoes which had sat a little too long to melt butter on. She dug a couple of plates out and laid out bread for the burgers.

 

“Good, I hate that shit.” Max snorted. For a couple of moments there was no sound in the apartment beyond the microwave and the taciturn voice of Red Foreman announcing his desire to have a thousand feet so as to shove them up various asses in unbelievable quantities. Eventually, with what she considered a particularly unhealthy meal on each plate, Max returned to the living room. Chloe seemed to be trying to get engrossed in the show but her eyes kept closing as if she was on the verge of falling asleep. She did, predictably, perk up at the scent of a burger and a butter-drenched potato when Max sat the plate carefully across her legs and took a spot beside her. “What? No foot rub while I eat?”

 

“No foot rub with dinner,” Max confirmed, before biting into her own burger.

 

“Well, what about a beer and a foot rub  _after_ dinner?” she countered after taking her own first bite. “And I mean the beer for the both of us.”

 

“I’ll pass on a beer but I think we can work something out with the rest.”  _You know,_ Max mused as she chewed,  _Chloe really is the kind of person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Most people get too cranky when they’re so upset._ Feeling a bit crafty, Max talked about her day at work, not really admonishing Chloe for her reactions to her not-so-subtly homophobic client and skirting around her own thoughts about the girl, many of which were far ruder than anything Chloe could mumble out between bites. All attempts to steer the conversation to Chloe’s day earned really simple, generic answers. Clearly, work was not something she wanted to talk about. “They’re giving you your breaks, right?”  _So much for being subtle, Max._

 

“Yeah,” she responded, looking up at Max with some curiosity. “Why?”

 

“Just wanted to make sure. You’re not usually  _this_ worn out.”

 

“Well,” Chloe started, lowering her fork. “I sorta, kinda got up in the middle of the night last night and spent a couple hours studying. You slept  _right_ through it. Must have been worn out.” Max wanted to respond that a night out with Chloe and Blair back could easily wear most people out and she also had a small urge to nag at Chloe about sleeping better, but restrained it only with what felt like a herculean effort. “I know, I know, it was a bad idea. I just woke up from a dream and...”

 

“What kind of dream?” Max asked.

 

“The quintessential failed test dream,” Chloe admitted with a defeated sigh. “So, there I was, in the Physics classroom, at Blackwell, in my underwear and I was so  _fucking_ _embarrassed_  I couldn’t remember the answers to any of the questions on the test Jones was giving out.” Honestly, Max didn’t  _mean_ to laugh but it was so damned  _normal_ that it seemed out of place in their life. “Hey, what can I say? When I freak out about a test, I freak out about a test.”

 

“Well, just try to get a little rest tonight. If you can’t, you know, you should probably not try to study tired. There’s this school of thought that says you remember things better if you’re in the frame of mind when you learned them. Warren was telling me about it one day, but I don’t remember what term they use,” Max tried to recall it but nothing came to mind. “Either way, I hope you’re not taking your test absolutely knackered.”

 

“Knackered?” Chloe snorted. “Who the  _hell_ says knackered?”

 

“Fifty year old English yacht owners?” Max countered. That earned a more committed chuckle and she counted that as a win given how tired the woman was. As good as it was to just sit and talk to Chloe after a day that had turned out a lot darker than it started, it was clear she was exhausted and Max didn’t try to push the conversation any farther. Instead, together they vegged out with outcasts of Point Place and occasionally even laughed along with the laugh track (what Joyce used to call ‘canned laughter.’) By the time most of Max’s plate was clean Chloe was finished, though she had yet to even try to stand up. This made it easier for Max to take the plate from her hand and after receiving a soft peck on the cheek by way of a thank you or simply an ‘I love you’ she dropped their dishes off in the sink to be handled the next morning.

 

 

“You know,” she started as she turned back and then grew quiet. The inevitable had happened and she could see Chloe’s head rise and fall with her breathing, eyes firmly shut.  _Well, shit. I can’t really bring myself to wake her up yet._ Instead Max rejoined the woman on the couch, wrapped her arm around Chloe’s shoulders and leaned her girlfriend against her where at least her head was not hanging down at an unnatural angle.  _Give her a few minutes, hell, even an hour. Then annoy her until she goes to bed._ “I love you, Chloe. Even if you are about to drool on my shoulder.” 


	7. Chapter 6

 

 

 

 

 

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money or special proliferation, here.

* * *

 

Chapter Six

 

It was not unusual for Chloe to wake up in the middle of the night and turn to lie on her other side as often her back was rather sore and turning seemed to help. Usually it was as simple as that and she half buried her face in her pillow and was off again. This time, though, blinking, she took in the bed around her and the part of her brain that was actually firing knew that something was _wrong._ Drawing in a breath, she reached out for Max only to realize that her absence was precisely what struck her as aberrant. Through the open bedroom door, she saw that the bathroom light was off. _No sleep,_ she told herself, _find Max._ It was hard to put into words exactly why this was so important but during her waking hours it would probably have been a no-brainer.

 

She got out of bed a little shakily, the sound of her own breathing loud and foreign to her ears. Her toes dug momentarily into the carpet and then she stepped out into the hall, listening for the sound of the television, running water in a sink or the tub or maybe the refrigerator opening and closing. None of that came and the apartment was still dark. Her right hand steadied her against the wall long enough to lead her into the living room and to a light switch. When light flooded the room, she threw her arm up over her eyes to block it out. Someone on the other side of the room bumped into something or jumped, she wasn’t sure which.

 

Her mind starting to work, Chloe blinked twice and then moved her arm aside, to see Max standing, still dressed for bed. She was not turned toward Chloe, instead facing to look out the window. Chloe wasn’t sure exactly what Max might have been looking at as their road was typically not well traveled at night but rubbed at her eyes before coming closer. Still, Max gave no sign of noticing her, but did absentmindedly bump the blinds she was peeking out between. Once close enough even the dim light from the hall could not obscure the look of horror on her face. This was not the usual “I’m scared to talk about something” Max nor the “I’m nervous about something coming up” Max. No, this was mortal terror Max, this was standing beside the lighthouse watching Arcadia Bay ripped apart and dropped in pieces of flesh and debris.

 

“Max?” she tried. After no immediate response, she reached out and grabbed onto Max’s shoulder and this time the woman certainly jumped in place, turning away from the window to stare into Chloe’s eyes. This was not as pleasant as it normally was; the eyes of a person who is truly, from the bottom of their heart, terrified are not pleasant places to get lost in. “What’s wrong?” Max shook her head and before she could spit out some sort of evasion, Chloe repeated her question. “Max, tell me right now, what is wrong? What did you see out there?” Chloe moved past her and despite the feeling of Max gripping her by the wrist did not hesitate to look out. All she saw was the dim sidewalk and ruined building front across the street. Nothing unusual, nothing new.

 

“Someone was out there, looking right up at me. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and was just walking around, trying to get tired. When I opened the blinds, there she was.” With no more information forthcoming, with that raspy whisper of a voice so unlike hers fallen silent, Chloe tried to prompt her for more information. This time she was utterly silent and Chloe wasn’t sure if this was by choice or necessity. Two sets of bare feet shuffled across the carpet and onto the faux tile floor of the kitchen as Chloe fumbled for the light switch. Eventually, the kitchen light was on and Max lowered into a seat. She went to retrieve a couple of their cheap, plastic cups for water.

 

“Who was it?” Chloe prompted, “was it the woman who’s been calling you? Was she fucking watching the house?” Max nodded and then shook her head in rapid succession, not as if answering each of her questions but unsure of either answer. She was still gathering herself when Chloe sat a glass down in front of her. “Max, I need you to hold it together for me.” _This is just a piece of the puzzle. She has really not been herself lately._ That much was true. Max seemed confused often when talking about Arcadia Bay. It was reasonable for her to mix up some things, given all the apparent alternate histories she had lived through. The thing was, she never seemed to be able to keep them apart for long, even if Chloe corrected her. It was beginning to get disturbing.

 

“I want to tell you,” Max said, “But I’m afraid.”

 

“What are you afraid of?” she asked, trying to affect a flippant tone instead of betray how unnerved and concerned she felt. “It’s just us here.”

 

“I’m afraid,” Max started, spinning the glass on the tabletop, the most life she had shown since Chloe found her at the window. “I’m afraid you’ll think that I’m lying, that I’m making it up, that I’m trying to hurt you or upset you. I’m really scared you’ll think I’m losing it. I know I get confused sometimes. I know you’re getting worried. I’m worried too. My head’s a mess. This is gonna make it worse. Your worrying, I mean, not my head.” Chloe could follow most of what she said, having woken up a bit, but she prompted Max to continue with only a circling of her hand. “I saw a dead person staring up at me.”

 

“What?” She didn’t mean to sound so on edge when she said it but this did feel as if she had tried to squeeze blood from a turnip and gotten rancid piss instead. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean someone who died in Arcadia Bay was across the road looking up at me and I didn’t know what to do.” That was when Chloe realized Max was actually shaking and it was not cold by any stretch of the imagination. Whatever was going on, it certainly was _not_ a cruel joke. This was not Max screwing with Chloe.

 

“Go on, Max,” she said, “Remember what we said? No lies, not even by omission. If I get upset, we’ll talk it out. Just tell me who you saw?”

 

“It was Rachel Amber,” she admitted, before hunching forward over the table. “It was Rachel. She was so fucking _beautiful_ and _angry_ and I saw how much she _hated_ me.” _Ah, Christ._ Chloe stood up, feeling a bit as if someone had just put a knife in her chest and left it in there. She understood Max’s concern now. She knelt down beside Max, taking one of her hands in both of her own. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why, _I don’t know why.”_

 

“Max,” Chloe spoke forcefully, squeezing her hand. “It’s okay. I’m not pissed. It’s a little disturbing, but you were probably sleep walking, right?” Max shook her head again and then shrugged before finally nodding.

 

“Y-Yeah, I guess, maybe sleep walking acts like this? Some kind of nightmare? Maybe the start of one, I mean, she was really mad and-” Max laughed at herself. “It’s not like she could be there anyway.” The laughter was humorless and Chloe hated herself for feeling like it carried the tone of someone who was unhinged. This was _Max_ and maybe she was having a hard time but she was hardly _unhinged._ “I’m sorry you found me like that. I guess I sleepwalk, now.”

 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” she ran one hand softly down Max’s cheek. “It’s okay,” Chloe repeated, surprised to feel actual tears. “Max, its all gonna be alright. You just need to come back to bed, finish sleeping and everything will look great in the morning. We’ll go out, shop, break our own rules and get some soft pretzels or something and then watch a movie. Something you’d like, a stupid rom-com. You can roll your eyes at me every time I roll my eyes at it. That’ll be fun, right?” The tone of her own voice was disconcerting. It was like someone trying to bribe another. ‘ _Just be okay,’_ she seemed to be begging. ‘ _Just be okay.’_

 

In an attempt to avoid the whole event being something that they couldn’t talk about, something that became or felt too awkward between them, Chloe didn’t let the conversation die even when Max didn’t respond. It took a little wheedling but as she moved about the kitchen making a midnight snack of toast, she got Max to recall the _nightmare_ in detail. While it was unpleasant to hear about in some ways, getting the discussion flowing more freely meant it did not hold as much power over her. She hoped it was the same for Max.

 

**Just be okay.**

 

Eventually, they agreed that this was all down to talking about Arcadia Bay so much after months of repressing it. _Hell,_ Chloe thought, _we even let Blair in on it._ Chloe recounted her own dream ( _nightmare_ ) about Arcadia Bay, about being back at Blackwell Academy, being unable to remember anything for the Chemistry test in front of her and the unyielding worry that if she _failed_ she would be back in the Wells’ office with her mother behind her, saying how disappointed she was. _I gave her way too much disappointment,_ Chloe thought as she wiped bread crumbs from her hands. Though more than an hour had passed by the time they flipped the kitchen light off, Chloe felt far too awake as she and Max reluctantly returned to bed to await the incessant, merciless screeching of their alarm clock.

 

For Chloe, the next seven days were anxiety incarnate. All she could do was worry about this person who was threatening Max or, for that matter Max’s own mental health. When she managed to squeeze loose from the grips of each of those problems there was the looming GED test ahead of her. Driven by nerves she was unaccustomed to having in her life, she even had the address to the testing center memorized. That, at least, was fairly impressive. Seven days, many hard shifts at work, an uber ride and one suspiciously underwhelming test after their midnight gathering around the dinner table and Chloe was standing outside of their front door, a key in her no longer shaking hand. _The worst part is, the fact that I feel so confident about it feels_ wrong, she thought.

 

She was so distracted by the nagging feeling that the GED test should not have been so simple that not even the curiosity of Max not being downstairs in the studio was as overwhelming. Maybe she was sick, maybe she was waiting upstairs to hear the results. Either way, Chloe was wasting time standing out there _worrying_ about things. She turned the key and pushed the door open. A small chorus of voices met her, alongside loud and piercing pops. Chloe blinked at the sight before her, laughing as Max and Blair blew a pair of noisemakers roughly in her direction. Chloe stepped across the threshold and took the sight in more firmly. Without actually giving it away at all, Max had apparently organized a small surprise party, as she sat around the kitchen table freshly hauled into the living room beside Blair who had brought along her husband Alan and boyfriend, Mark.

 

“Hey,” she called. “You don’t throw a party for my birthday but you do for test day?” Max shook her attempt at humor off and got up from the table to join her. Someone, and Chloe had a feeling it was Blair, waited until the photographer was inches from Chloe’s face to blow the noisemaker once more, as loudly and discordantly as possible. It did little to interrupt either their kiss or embrace, but it did do a fair job of cutting the tension that had just sprung up between them. “Well,” she said, teasingly after Max pulled back with the slightest bit of lust in her eyes, “I haven’t even told you how it went yet.”

 

“Well, how’d it go?” This was Alan. Strangely enough, of Blair’s partners, her husband was the one Chloe had had the least occasion to spend any time with. He was amiable enough though and shared Chloe’s taste in music, something that he made her promise was ‘their secret’ as Blair would never ‘tolerate our ‘shit’ in her house.’ Chloe could believe that most of the time it was her house. Their bushy-haired brunette friend was a force of nature, a bacchic force most of the time, but a force of nature all the same.

 

“It went well, maybe a little too well,” she admitted as she managed to untie and loose her feet from her boots while still balancing her bag. Apparently having enjoyed the balancing act long enough, Max took the bag from her _after_ the fact and sat it down by the boots. That was fine, she had a feeling that no matter how tired she was, not a one of them was going to let her get away without a bit of a party, even if it likely meant only weed, beer, take out and movies. _Actually, that sounds fucking_ grand _right now._ With Max in tow Chloe took a seat at the table, turning toward Mark and Alan both.

 

“I haven’t seen either of you in few weeks. What’s been up?” Neither quite had a chance to answer but Chloe could pick up a few things from looking at either man’s face. When, a few days ago, Blair had called Mark a workaholic it was not the fairest of descriptors but he did tend to get forced into working long hours whenever one of his clients was being a real diva. He said that he ‘managed talent’ and didn’t give a lot of other information out. Chloe had done just enough prying to find out he wasn’t doing anything illegal ( _which is more than can be said for his girlfriend,_ she thought) and decided to let him tell her if he wanted.

 

“Okay, catch up sounds fine,” Blair said, suddenly. “But first, there must be beer and music-” as if realizing some mistake the woman stopped halfway to standing, sat down, leaned forward and clarified: “Real music, some shit you can dance to.” Chloe didn’t turn around but she felt like she could hear Max’s eyes rolling over her shoulder. Mark got to his feet and when Blair looked up curiously he waved a hand, grunting as if to say ‘mind your own business.’ Chloe glanced behind her to see Max hurrying after him and a creeping suspicion washed over her. Not that anything untoward was happening but- ah, there it was. The sound of something rather sizable being moved from the counter confirmed it.

 

Mark was doing the honor of carrying in a surprisingly large cake baring the phrase ‘You got your GED’ in hastily formed letters. Putting aside that this was not technically true, the entire thing looked rather amateurishly made. She looked up at Max, squinting, trying to remember if Max actually knew a damn thing about baking. _Then again,_ she thought, swiveling her head back around to Alan and Blair. _Those two do, and if Blair had a hand in it…._ She affected a sort of mix between the stereotypical ‘stoner’ tone and a Brooklyn accent.

 

“Let me guess,” she started, “You dumped a ‘fat sack of reefer in the mix?’” This call back to one of Blair’s favorite films was not lost on her husband, who only smiled. “Not so fat, I’m hoping?” In the referenced film scene the main character had been rendered borderline helpless by the munchies and ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bucket of chicken. While an exaggeration, it was not far off from how Blair could occasionally react to getting rather baked herself.  
  
Their night was atypically _fun_ afterwards. Beer, cake and comedy flicks that were almost bad enough to make one feel guilty made up the rest of the evening. It meant that she didn’t have the chance to talk one-on-one with Max, but that was okay. Between the five of them they would have torn through the small amount of beer usually kept on hand but apparently while at the store that day, Max and Blair had taken liberty and stocked up for the party. This meant that by the time night was falling to morning the lot of them were already fairly drunk, sitting on kitchen chairs or the couch, lost to much else but laughter and conversation. Privately, while she was still lucid Chloe found herself thinking that that was the way life should be: simple, spent with your few friends and, when need be, indulging.

 

The kitchen table was eventually put back in its place with only minimal injury to the men carrying it to make room for an inflatable mattress that Blair had managed to convince her husband could hold herself and Mark. The urge to make a joke or two about menage a trois in the living room was somewhat suppressed by the realization that she wasn’t actually sure about Mark’s sexuality. Her little joke could have been, for all she knew, all too real a possibility. In case of any sort of tension between the three of them, it was best to stay out.

 

“Why is probably the second smallest person here still standing while you _big strong men_ are going down?” Chloe taunted as Mark tried to get the mattress blown up and found himself having difficulties. (Blair assured him he was full of enough hot air to get the job done.) Max raised an eyebrow her way.

 

“Second smallest?”

 

“Face it, Maxamillion,” Chloe shot back. “I’ve got about ten pounds and at least four inches on you.”

 

“Funny,” Mark said as he took a moment to breathe, “That’s what I told Alan before we got here.”

 

“Heyo!” Eventually, though, Chloe was forced to admit that as shaky as she was beginning to feel, bed was not the worst idea in the world. Even inebriated she could see that Blair was dropping fast and with the first of the party already laying down things were starting to quiet as a natural consequence. It was when Max stood to get something from across the room, wobbled and immediately sat back down that Chloe decided she was going to call it a night. Just walking the two steps from the chair she was in to where Max was freshly seated made it clear that walking a straight line was an impossibility. “Alright, alright, Max, let’s leave these lovebirds alone. I want my sheets and a fucking snuggle. You down?”

 

“Absolutely,” the photographer replied, standing more emphatically and successfully this time. Certainly, her speech was much clearer and less slurred than Chloe’s but it only took a step to throw Max right back off balance. Chloe reached out and steadied her as best she could. Together, they wandered toward the bedroom. Someone, Blair probably, called something toward them and the part of Chloe’s brain that wasn’t trying to keep her body upright registered it and replied but all of it was in one ear and out the other before she even turned the knob on their bedroom door and stumbled to the bed.

 

The couple fell awkwardly onto it and, laughing, Max rolled off of her. With more effort than it had any excuse to cost, Max managed to turn herself to at least be lying with her head on a pillow and let her eyes shut, muttering something about cuddling. Chloe obliged her after too long fidgeting with a sheet. It wasn’t long before her own eyes closed, a hand sliding from combing softly through Max’s hair down to rest on her shoulder. Vaguely from the living room she heard Blair speaking, though judging by the lack of response she was talking drunkenly to the television. The last thing Chloe recalled of the night was a halfhearted chuckle.

 

The first thing she experienced the next day, on the other hand, was a pounding headache and churning stomach as she half crawled out of bed. She paused for a moment when she stood to see if she was going to get some sort of absurd spinning room to go with her unsettled stomach but was pleasantly surprised. Looking out of the window hurt, but it did tell her that the sun was firmly risen. She glanced back at the bed but it was empty. Max was likely up already, relaxing on a rare day off. Many voices came from the kitchen but she wasn’t entirely sure she could put up with them yet. She definitely needed to wake and bake first, shower and then find all the aspirin in the greater Los Angeles area, two pots of coffee and possibly a gun to shoot herself with. _At least Mark can help me with that one._

 

Pleasantly surprised by the lack of bile rising in her throat, Chloe dug around in her sock drawer briefly. When she found what she was groping blindly for, _then_ she actually looked for clothing. After several minutes she managed to cross from the bedroom ( _I don’t remember shutting the door last night. Max must have.)_ and into the bathroom without drawing any eyes, so the entire party must have been gathered around the kitchen table. Chloe closed the door behind her as softly as she could, not to hide from anyone but so as not to anger the headache which screamed at her each time she moved her neck.

 

She lowered herself onto the edge of the tub as she lit up, grateful for the window providing just enough light that she had no need to turn on the bare light bulb above their mirrored medicine cabinet. Over more time than it probably should have taken she put together the end of the night in her head, not feeling quite jovial enough to chuckle at the antics whose memories she managed to scrounge up. At one point the door knob started to turn and she tried to say that the room was occupied but it came out as something like an angry moan. _Why do I do this to myself? Aren’t I supposed to be able to deal with this shit better? I’m only nineteen for fuck’s sake._

 

The shower started out as a kind of torture. At first the noise of the water slamming against the tub around her was actually too loud and she felt so sensitive to the warmth of the water, not as if it was too hot and burning her skin but as if her entire body was just so damn _warm._ Finally, though, after minutes had passed, it began to become more relaxing than agonizing. At least some of the pain in her neck seemed to be washed away by the shower and that did lessen the pain in her head significantly enough to make looking from side to side not total torture. Once clean, she dressed in slightly brighter light and dried herself a bit ineffectively.

 

She was less of a zombie by the time she shuffled slowly into the kitchen on legs that felt weak and heavy. Blair, Mark and Alan were gathered around the table talking in mercifully hushed tones as they ate from various Chinese take-out containers that Chloe could only assume someone had delivered. Three or four still full and closed boxes sat on the counter, clearly meant for Chloe and Max. _Speaking of?_ She opened her mouth to make her presence known but at that moment Alan looked up at her and a devious looking smile started to form on his face. It was enough to make her mentally vow immediate revenge if he was loud or annoying in an effort to make her head ache.

 

“Where’s Max?” was all she could say in place of any proper greeting. Blair shared a quick look with Alan and then shrugged in response.

 

“Truth told, I thought she was still in bed with you. You were both _pretty_ hammered.”

 

“Blair, I heard you talking to an Adam Sandler movie last night, no room to talk.” She didn’t mean it to sound so grumpy but her head hurt far too much for things not to be _normal,_ not to make _sense._ “You got food?” Alan reached from his seat back to the counter and produced one of the boxes, holding aloft something that smelled suspiciously like a container of beef lo mein. Chloe wasn’t sure if the three of them were just unusual or she was, but the idea of Chinese food the morning after a night drinking had never really occurred to her before meeting any of them. Now, her churning stomach warned against it while simultaneously growling in desire. _Hate you,_ she told it. _I hate you._

 

“You alright there, Chloe?” She didn’t dignify that with a response, especially with the smile on the man’s face as he waved the container in offering one more time. She shook her head, though and walked to the door. “What’s going on?”

 

“Gonna go find Max,” she said, voice sounding a bit closer to normal. “Probably downstairs. Gonna drag her ass up here. Gonna eat all of the lo mein. Then? I’m gonna go back to sleep for hours.” This earned a snort, but Chloe tuned it out. Slightly woken by the mystery of the missing girlfriend, she glanced down at herself to be sure was fit to be seen in public. The tank top was rather large on her and probably not the most modest thing she could wear, but that was fine. Any prudes could go fuck themselves, Chloe was not in the mood to be worried about someone else’s delicate sensibilities. It took a good few seconds of struggling and listening to taunting offerings of help from Mark or Blair to get her boots on, during which she wished vehemently for her old converse back.

 

Stepping outside of the apartment felt like a horrible decision. Her head swam at the assault of noise and direct sunlight but she was a woman on a mission. That mission was to find and _not_ get upset at her girlfriend for making her late for Hungover Breakfast. The stairs took longer than needed but she was not down for a broken neck or any trips to the hospital from a fall. Turning the corner, her brain registered something wrong with the front of the studio from the moment she saw it. It just took until she was to the front door to understand what it was.

 

The glass door had been busted in and shards littered the mat left just inside for guests to wipe their feet on. She blinked, looking into the shop properly. Max was sat behind her desk, behind the counter staring blankly at the floor. The front of the counter itself had been painted with large, hastily crafted letters spelling out ‘Stupid Dead Bitch.’ Someone had dragged two fingers through the paint while it was still wet, smearing a long, red line through the entire tag. She called out Max’s name but didn’t get a response and she had to admit her voice sounded weaker than before to her own ears. Unexpectedly for summer in LA, she felt cold suddenly, cold to the core and that churning stomach now felt to be located somewhere in her feet. A couple of chairs that were put out for people waiting sit in and even for subjects of portraits to pose in lay in pieces on the ground, a busted tripod seemed to be spread across the room. Several objects, none of them too expensive, were destroyed and left in bits around the studio. Chloe thanked a god she didn’t believe in that Max always brought her camera upstairs and locked her lights in the closet.

 

“Max?” she tried again. Max’s head rose and she looked at Chloe with a blank expression, not doing much to lessen how unsettled Chloe herself was, nor the feeling that this was just another sack of shit being left on their doorstep. Problems kept hitting one after another and it felt like some of them were tornadoes like the one that struck Arcadia Bay, coming from nowhere and with a brutality that only matched their suddenness. More little pieces of gear or busted knickknacks littered the ground as she stepped behind the counter. The store’s landline hadn’t even managed to escape the rage of whoever broke into the store. _That’s it, this is_ definitely _rage. This isn’t just a creep. This is someone who actually hates Max. This is someone who wants her dead._ The thought came unbidden but it settled into her mind like truth, like fact, like science.

 

Wrapping an arm around Max’s shoulders did nothing to get a response from her. Red paint was smeared across a couple her fingers. _Oh god, she was down here that soon after this fucker finished? What would I have done if I lost her?_ Nothing was doing. It was almost like Max was completely unaware of her. Those blue-green eyes were still lifeless as they stared at nothing that Chloe could see, at probably the only clear piece of floor in the studio. _That’s it, mother fucker._ She did not have her own phone but she could see the outline of Max’s in her pocket. This felt like it might be an invasion of privacy, but Chloe leaned forward and, with difficulty, fished the woman’s phone from her pocket. She felt like throwing up all over again when Max didn’t react to the jostling. It was rather difficult to do with her hunched forward.

 

She stopped with the phone in her hand, tilting her head slightly upward from where she knelt as something caught her eye. Max was speaking. Well, not precisely speaking, but her lips were moving, as if she were trying to talk. No sound came out and Chloe was not exactly a mind or a lip reader. Eventually, her arm wrapping tight around Max’s shoulders, she called 9-1-1. She had no answers for the operator on the other end of the line, she had no clue if they were still in danger. How long ago did this break in happen? Was the perpetrator nearby? Were there witnesses? At least with that last one, she could give an answer other than, “I don’t know.”

 

“Maybe one but she’s not well,” she told the woman.

 

“Well the police are on their way, if there’s someone in the area who saw something, please try to get them to stay. Do you need me to stay on the line with you?” With Max almost catatonic beside her and the studio in absolute ruins, she almost wanted to say yes. Instead, she thanked the woman for her help and hung up. Ashamed, she felt her eyes stinging with tears and one glance at Max’s still blank visage was all it took for her to make another call. Blair and her men were down the stairs in record time. The fact was, from hanging up on the dispatcher to seeing Blair barrel into the studio as if she thought the person who broke in was still in there, only maybe a minute passed.

 

Mark and Alan followed only a step or two behind. Mark, by far the bulkier of the two, was nudged very softly by Alan after stopping in the doorway. A low whistle passed the lips of one of the two, but once she was sure they were coming in Chloe turned away from them to whisper to Max. Most of it was absolute nonsense but it was meant to sound comforting. Unusually soft and emotionally in tune, Blair was silent but positioned herself on Max’s other side rubbing her back in silence. Blair did a lot of things well: she was loyal, she was kind but she didn’t know much about being a comforting force. She tended to run headlong at any problem and beat it into submission, it was what made her the person to have behind the grill during lunch rush. _I wish she could beat the bitch that did this into submission._ Chloe fumed, while trying to keep her voice even and warm. The memory of the gun stored in her underwear drawer came back to her. _And now,_ she thought, _I carry that whenever I can._

 

The police did come, eventually, and by that time Max was no longer staring at the floor or mouthing anything. She had not yet spoken and did not when they entered but her eyes showed awareness, they twitched toward people when they moved and at one point she might have grunted in response to something Blair muttered to her that was just low enough for Chloe not to hear. It was a relief but only the dullest, shallowest form of relief. Something was _wrong._ Max was _not alright._ The officers who came to answer the call were careful as they approached: a sharp eyed, tan woman and her pale, exhausted, haggard older partner who looked like they ought to be the stars of a relatively decent buddy cop movie where one of them was on the outs with the police chief or something of the sort.

 

They seemed to talk to one another just inside the door, ignoring the five standing (or sitting in Max’s case) in wait for them to speak. The woman finally approached the counter with her partner (or co-worker, however that worked) staying a step or two back as he surveyed the damage and radioed to someone for _something._ Maybe one of those crime teams? Chloe wasn’t sure. Chloe didn’t care in that moment. All that mattered was getting to the bottom of this shit, finding out who did this and what had happened to Max.

 

“Hon, can you tell us what’s happened here?” the officer asked Max. It took a couple of seconds but she looked up at the cop, opened her mouth to reply and then shut it again, shaking her head. Then, alarmingly, she returned to staring at the floor. “There’s an ambulance only about a minute or two behind us, we’re gonna have to have the paramedics take a look at you, alright?” Chloe felt some relief but doubted seriously a paramedic would know what to do. Unless this was just a severe case of shock, well... _Fuck, my head hurts._

 

“She wasn’t in the apartment when I woke up. We had some guests over,” she gestured to Mark, Alan and Blair, “and none of them had seen her get up. So I got worried.” Exhaling shakily, she continued. “She’s been getting calls. Threatening calls. Says it’s a restricted number. Just a woman that says that Max has something belonging to the woman and better give it back. The last one ended with a threat, and the counter front… well.” A pathetic desire to see some glimmer of hope as a result of talking to these cops rose up. Not for the first time, she hated herself, she felt weak and powerless. “Anyway, I think she might have seen something. Look at her hand. Paint. She couldn’t have gotten here long after the person who did it left. They threatened her. If they did something I want to find them, I want them in fucking jail.”

 

The woman raised her hands, as if to signal for Chloe to calm down. She hadn’t even really noticed her own voice rising in both pitch and volume as she spoke. She hadn’t noticed that she was on the verge of tears again before then. She felt both Alan and Blair’s hands on either shoulder but didn’t turn back. If she focused on those two sensations, she might be able to keep herself together. They weren’t entirely done asking her questions even by the time the entire group was out on the sidewalk, Chloe sitting beside Max at the back of the ambulance while she was being checked out. Mercifully, though, the third time the paramedic asked Max if she would like some water, the photographer verbally answered in the affirmative. Whether it was the man’s calm tone or just a part of Max’s mind realizing she really needed a drink, something drew her back to herself. Chloe was relieved enough when Max turned to look at her with concerned eyes that she forgot what she was being asked.

\---

Chloe felt exhausted the moment she opened her eyes. _This isn’t how it’s supposed to work,_ she told her body matter of factly. It didn’t do much in the way of listening, though. Perhaps it was simply her not looking forward to the day. She sat up, glancing over at Max, who was glaring daggers at the alarm clock yet again. One day, and it was not likely to be too far off in the future, she expected to find the damn thing in pieces on the sidewalk below their bedroom window. In the five days since the studio was vandalized, Max had come back to herself in most ways. A phone call between Chloe and Vanessa Caulfield had yielded the agreement that Chloe was going to do her best to get Max to see a counselor. The idea was, at least, for Chloe to sit down with her after work and go over the idea. It certainly would not be taken well if done that morning. Max managed a caring enough good morning before she stood and started to fumble about for clothing.

 

Chloe didn’t stand so quickly: sitting up was unpleasant enough and she couldn’t get the thought of the day to come to shake loose from her head enough to motivate her to get up. There were, after all, hours between their alarm and when her shift started and bed was so appealing especially when she thought about putting up with dodging her manager all day. _Misogynist asshole, I wish like hell someone would just fire his ass._ A moment passed before Chloe realized she hadn’t responded to Max, and answered her greeting in kind, tilting her head sideways and observing the way Max grabbed for her clothing, the way she stood and held herself. She was definitely _not okay_ still, but at least this morning she seemed more angry at the sun and the rotation of the earth than upset. Anything was better than that near catatonia.

 

“You should take the first shower,” Max finally told her, her voice softening. “I think breakfast is mine today.” That was a relief, the last thing Chloe felt like doing was cooking, not with hours of it ahead of her. She tried not to show as she responded or finally rose to her feet just how bitter she was feeling toward the day, herself. Maybe neither of them were going to be morning people, for a while. Chloe left a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek as she grabbed a tee and the first pair of pants she found and headed for the shower. Before getting in she gave her face a half-hearted spot check in the mirror. _I look like I’m not sleeping. I guess I haven’t done as well lately._ Chloe shook her head at herself and the sudden desire to count up the number of hours she might have managed to get the night before. It was only going to be more discouraging.

 

The shower left her far more awake but no less mentally exhausted by the time she came out into the hall, absentmindedly drying her hair. There was a sort of sweet smell in the air under the scent of bacon and _damn it,_ that did improve her mood just slightly. As expected when she stepped into the kitchen there was a small stack of pancakes waiting on a plate opposite of where Max was already cutting into her own. The sight was enough to cue salivation, and she settled the towel across the back of her chair as she dropped eagerly into place. Her mood shift was apparently notable enough that the Max across from her no longer looked distracted or angry at the sun for rising. Instead she was grinning at the liberal application of maple syrup, which Max had clearly had warmed up.

 

“Jesus Fuck,” Chloe said, cutting into the stack for the first time. “You know I’m going to rock your fucking world for this tonight, right?” Max froze and notably had to resist with a spit take. Counting it as a victory, Chloe stabbed at a bit of pancake with her fork with a victorious shout and brought them to her lips. This was one of the few breakfast foods where Max actually kicked her mother’s ass somehow. She did clearly _something_ different but wasn’t budging on her secret, whatever it was.

 

“You men are all the same, it’s all about sex or food with you.” Chloe would have responded, but taking an exaggerated, large bite had left her incapable. Instead, she gave Max a rude gesture, to which she responded, “Yeah, yeah, you’ve already told me. Like I said, all about sex.” Despite the teasing they ate with relatively little conversation. That might be down as much to Chloe being very into one of her favorite breakfasts as to either of them living a bit too much inside their own heads, but only _as_ much. This was rather a large day for Max, the first day the studio was to open after the break in.

 

“You know,” Chloe said as they descended the steps together, “I really think I know who it was who paid for the door.” Max seemed to slow ahead of her and Chloe did the same to match and avoid sending either of them tumbling down a wooden staircase whose rails were not quite high enough, if you asked her. “Before the cops ushered us out of there, Mark was eyeing the door pretty hard. I bet it was him. He’s certainly got the cash to blow on it and I think he’s a pretty damn nice guy about shit like that.” Max nodded in front of her but didn’t immediately respond. “It’s alright if you want me not to talk about it. I mean, if I didn’t remember something like that I might want people to stop bringing it up all the time, too.”

 

“It’s alright,” Max said, as she turned back upon hitting street level. She held out a hand and Chloe took it, moving in close. They moved quickly around the corner of the building to the front door of the studio where Chloe once more took in the handiwork she attributed to Blair’s ‘talent manager’ boyfriend. The door had been completely replaced, alright, but it was no simple pane of glass anymore with a sign hanging from it. Instead, in big, bold white letters the top advertised the store: ‘Arcadia Studio’ and beneath Max’s offered services were listed. Max might be a bit perturbed by it but she grinned each time she saw it and Chloe watched this one bloom on her face feeling a bit warmer than expected.

 

They unlocked the door and stepped inside. Chloe took a moment to look around. All of the debris was gone, the counter painted a fresh coat of white to offset the dark floor and blue walls and all in all, everything that could be replaced at a reasonable price had been. The exception was Max’s older tripod had been subbed in for the good ones. She insisted it was fine to do the job and a look at both of their bank accounts had removed Chloe’s temptation to argue. Chloe helped Max set up the lights and such, wondering that she had not done this more often over the last few months. It was a rather involved job to be left to one person each morning. Enough to tire you out before the day started. Still, it was better than leaving things unsecured to be destroyed.

 

While Max was fixing her camera to the old tripod, Chloe pulled one folding chair behind the counter and cleared herself a small space on it, setting aside various papers and the like that Max had left behind, mostly bills for the repairs. Chloe was going to help her go through those at some point but they did seem like they might be rather intimidating. She started Max’s laptop up so that it had time to load and watched the woman go about giving the shop a quick once over with a broom. It was utterly pointless as the studio had mostly sat empty since repairs finished, but Chloe knew Max had a thing for her morning rituals. At the appointed time, Chloe flipped the sign to open and then turned back to Max.

 

“Have a good one, okay?” Max prompted her. When Chloe did not leave, but instead smiled sweetly at her then walked right past her to sit behind the counter, the photographer grew understandably confused. “What are you doing?”

 

“What do you think?” Chloe responded. “Anyone who comes in for most of the day is going to think you’re making it big and trying out some cool, mysterious alternative style—not to mention absolutely gorgeous—receptionist.” Max rolled her eyes either at the idea or her grandiose self-description but was notably not objecting to the idea of Chloe helping out. “It’ll be fun. I’ll help you handle people, organize shit, it’ll be like those first few days.” _Sometimes I wish I could go back to them. Maybe I should see about getting her to actually hire me on. I’m not usually a fan of the ‘hot for the boss’ trope but,_ she glanced over at Max, who was plugging in the lights and checking that no untoward damage had been done to them in freeing them from the closet. _I could make an exception in this case._

 

She chuckled to herself, earning a curious glance backward from Max, but offered no information in response. Eventually, Max seemed to be as settled as she was going to get and came to sit down behind the desk. With no guests to impress, Chloe turned and sat backwards in her seat to face her girlfriend. For a moment, Max played quietly with her laptop, trying to get some program or another open. That was fine, if she wanted a quiet productive morning, Chloe could give her that. She just felt the need to be close to Max, given what was coming. _Don’t think about Calvin right now. Even if he’s getting worse at work, he doesn’t get to fuck with you here, not in your_ _ho_ _me._ It was easier thought than done.

 

“Okay, so I had to reschedule like, eight shoots while the studio was closed,” Max started, looking down at something that was probably an itinerary of sorts. “So, about five of those are coming in today. The first is in about an hour. Senior pictures. Shit, someone’s waiting til later in the year.” Chloe snorted. It was a bit inane to wonder about, but she couldn’t help but be curious if this was what Max did all the time when interacting with customers, quietly measuring them to see what kind of people they were. It would only make sense. She often did the same when waiting tables for the diner. Not everyone who came through those doors was a feisty local like Frank (the mid 60s queen whose wit was sharp as her own, not the deceased drug dealer of Arcadia Bay) or a cute punk singer come from across the country for a brief show. “If you were gonna pick any day to help me, I guess I’m glad it’s this one. There are gonna be a lot of people and chances are if one appointment runs over at first another is going to come in before it’s done.”

 

Chloe nodded and listened to Max sift through the surprisingly large list of things to do that day. Her tension headache threatened to get worse just from the _sound_ of that much tedious work. Sending emails, checking a sample of potential new printer’s work, sorting through pictures from an event she had taken shots for the week prior, all of that and more waited in Max’s future. Chloe couldn’t really do any of that for her but she did take the time to tidy up the desk and counter, storing the bills and any mail or paper that Max might need to respond to with some urgency in the photographer’s bag. That, and when someone finally came in an hour later, she spoke over Max’s rising voice.

 

“Welcome to Arcadia Studio,” Chloe greeted a boy as he entered, blinking. He was dressed in a long-sleeved dress shirt and slacks. Clearly pushed to look nice for the photo by a parent, he was now suffering the joys of a warm and humid LA day. The guy stuttered some greeting out, pushing a lock of slightly longer than usual hair behind an ear and approaching Chloe at the desk. Customer service was really not all that different from location to location. It meant dealing with assholes and drawing out the meek enough to get your job done. The blonde teen in front of her might be one of the meek type, so she turned up her charm as Max stood up and began to ready the small area at the back that she frequently used for simple portraits. “What can we do for you? Or did you have an appointment scheduled today?”

 

“Yeah,” the customer responded, apparently finding his voice after being put at ease. _The ‘dear, I just want to help you’ voice works ever damn time. Mom, you’d be proud of me. I can almost sound like I give an actual shit._ In fairness, sometimes she did. This wasn’t necessarily one of those times but applying a bit of charm gave a false impression that it was. “Yeah, I’m here to get my senior photos done. No other like, locations or anything. I wouldn’t really care about it, but, my mother, you know?” He seemed to sound embarrassed by bringing it up, as if talking about his mother around a strange, pretty girl was embarrassing as all hell. _Don’t worry, buddy, I get family issues._

 

“Well, if you want,” she turned to look toward Max, who flashed a thumbs up through the doorway, “I _think_ Max is ready for you, go on through that doorway. She’ll get those pictures done for you and let you get home and changed into something that’s not gonna leave you sweating bullets as soon as possible.” He seemed to chuckle briefly, as if in relief at someone else pointing out how _hot_ those clothes had to leave him and then turned toward the doorway Chloe gestured to, to see Max waiting in it.

 

“Hi,” Max called, “Sorry about that, I wanted to make sure everything was all set for you. Come on back.” As soon as his back was turned to her, Chloe stuck her tongue out at Max. _Sorry for what? Making him talk to me? Let’s be real Max, I’m kind of awesome._ The voice inside her own head sounded a bit too much like Blair for her own taste, so when Max shook her head slightly she went back to what she was doing, which was mostly tossing useless envelopes or documents through a small shredder to be recycled. Chloe often wondered what kind of mail Max was worried about getting in the wrong hands to need a shredder, but it was better just not to question it and move along with things. _Who knows? Maybe someone really would screw with some of this information._

 

She made an attempt throughout the morning to lessen Max’s mental workload, handling the clients when they first came in, telling a walk-in they were booked until four or five when they might be able to squeeze someone in. (That man had looked rather exasperated, but that was the price you paid when you were too lazy to call ahead, as far as Chloe was concerned.) To top it off, Max’s earlier prediction came to fruition when, at almost eleven her third appointment of the day came in on time while she was dealing with the second, who seemed to have issues making up their mind about poses or something of the sort. Chloe did her best to placate the woman who responded with merciful patience. Eventually, though, all good things must end.

 

Chloe found herself on a bus about half an hour later and found that the relative peace and quiet of the studio was missed. Maybe this was one of the things that Max really loved about her studio, there were never a ton of people around crowding you. _Don’t let it get to you,_ she told herself as someone behind her on the bus bumped her with his shoulder. _It’s just a packed bus._ Still, despite having experienced this numerous times, the promise of the stresses coming with the rest of the day were making her much more susceptible to being _upset_ at each little jolt nudge. _For fuck’s sake, just stand up straight people and you’ll be fine._

 

It was a gift when she managed to push her way off the bus, even though it meant a brisk walk to the restaurant in nice clothing, which she was not a massive fan of wearing at all. It always drew the oddest looks from Max, no matter how often she did it. _Maybe it’s time to mess with my style just to fuck with her a little? Nah, someone’s already fucked with her enough for a bit._ She was already in her worst mood of the day when she walked to the back of the hotel. The attached restaurant really preferred, at the behest of the hotel management, to have its workers come in through the back and not, apparently, ruin their diners’ experiences. The fact was that the restaurant was nothing special and the fact that it hired her and her co-workers meant their standards for food weren’t tending toward Michelin Star status.

 

The back door didn’t budge when she first tried to pull it open. A voice from the other side grunted an apology and the handle rattled beneath her hand as whoever was standing behind it let go. She opened it more softly than she had just attempted to see one of the waiters, Pete, looking apologetically at her. Behind him she could take in the sight of the rest of the kitchen. There were two other people involved in food prep going about doing their job, which was about half the amount of people there should be. She grimaced as she looked up at Pete, who stepped out of the way to let her through.

 

“Yeah, you’re going to be running light on hands tonight,” he told her, his face twisting into sympathy as he was very aware of how often she left mentally and physically exhausted at the end of the night to begin with. She smiled when he patted her on the shoulder with another grunt, this one supportive, as if to say, ‘well, soldier on.’ He was like that sometimes, words just didn’t tend to come to him too well, so he grunted to give off an idea or an emotion. It was surprising he was apparently a decent enough waiter to be kept on. Then again, being the manager’s baby brother (and the owners’ youngest son) probably did wonders. _And yet he’s the only one more vocal than me about how much Calvin needs to be jumped in a dark alley and left with an ass kicking._

 

Whatever he was doing at the back, she didn’t get a chance to ask, as another waiter, Leila, leaned in through the doors to the kitchen from the front and gave a call for him. Pete looked like he was going to curse, one foot on the threshold to stepping out the back door. _He probably wants a smoke,_ Chloe thought as she clocked in. _If I was related to that fucking pig, I’d want a smoke all the time._ Leila was typically a nice enough person, but today she seemed to take a harsh tone as she called for Pete again. _He probably fucked up an order and she doesn’t want to take the heat._

 

She wasn’t stationed in front of a stove very long before Calvin made his first appearance, coming out of the office to sweep his eyes across the room. Apparently unable or unwilling to count kitchen employees _(the daft fucker!)_ he said nothing about the fact that Chloe had only one other cook and a trainee with her to handle the day. In fact, he said nothing at all, though he did fix his beady eyes on her and smile through crooked teeth before vanishing into the office all over again. This was a scene that repeated several times over the night. Most often he would come out and bark orders at the rest of the staff but never really at her. Having rebuffed him rather directly during his last attempt to appeal to her to ‘try men’ he seemed to say very little when others were around. _Not that it stops him when we’re alone,_ she thought bitterly sometime as the lunch rush was finishing up.

 

For not the first time she cursed having to dress so well in such a cheap restaurant. With no orders waiting, she glanced across the kitchen to see her one backside coworker looking as exhausted as she felt. Under his guidance, the trainee was switching between doing dishes and prep work. It was cruel of them to put the girl through that much but they had very little options of their own. If shit kept up, there was no way Chloe was going to keep her cool for long. It did not help when, as she finally lowered her hands to her side and moved over to the sink to get a tiny bit of water, Calvin spoke, calling for her from the office.

 

“Chloe, can you come on back for a moment? That’s a good girl.” She shuddered.

 

“Sure,” she mumbled to herself, “If you can go face fuck yourself with an exhaust pipe, you fucking pig.” _You know your insults always have more sexual elements when you’re_ frustrated, she chided herself, before telling herself immediately to shut up.

 

“What? Sorry, couldn’t hear you from back here.”

 

“Yes sir,” she responded.

 

“That’s right.” The small power play done, Calvin ducked back into his office to wait for her. She glanced over the serving shelf, where Leila was shooting her a look of sympathy that she was not entirely sure she liked. _I really don’t want to be alone with that fucking creep._ In the end, she had little choice though. Chloe crossed the kitchen without looking at anyone else working in the back and stopped in then doorway to the office. “Ah, right, thanks.” To give credit to her earlier ‘English yacht owner’ rants about the man, he and his brother were very clearly English immigrants and the accent ran fairly thick in either of them.

 

“What do you need?” she asked, quickly and careful to keep her tone even.

 

“Just wanted you to know you’re good to go on break. We’re probably going to have a productive dinner rush and wouldn’t want you to not have a time for your _obviously very legal_ indulgences between lunch and dinner, would we?” The demeaning, patronizing tone made her bristle but at least it wasn’t as bad as the other tone he often took with her, on those days he got too close and tried to convince her to have a lovely night out followed by _‘passionate love making in my suite._ ’ The thought was enough to make her want to shudder again but without saying another word she took off for the back door. Hanging from a hook beside it, she dug into her bag and freed her phone and a joint.

 

Chloe felt some small sense of relief as she stepped outside and lit up, pressing her back against the wall of the building. No one who would care about her smoking was around to see back there. She was alone. _I need to hear Max’s voice,_ she decided. _That’s how I’ll get through today. Maybe I can convince her that the best way to make me feel better is breakfast for dinner._ She grinned at the memory of breakfast briefly. The phone was to her ear and ringing by the time that she realized Calvin had apparently assigned himself a break from whatever work he _wasn’t_ doing in the back at that point, too. She tried not to even turn his way after spotting the twenty-something out of the corner of her eye. After seconds that felt like hours, Max answered with a weary sounding tone. Chloe tried not to sound tense or as if she was whispering, though she did step away from the door as Calvin set himself up on the other side of it with a cigarette.

 

“Hey, honey,” she shot back, hearing her mother in her own voice. Still, this was a term of endearment that Max responded more positively to than most of the stupid little nicknames she came up with for the photographer. “I wanted to know how you were doing? Have you got most of your appointments behind you?”

 

“Yeah,” Max answered, tone brightening a bit. “One more about two thirty and then I’m done with that. Had a walk-in leave about five minutes ago or so. I’m not getting much of the little ‘administrative’ things done but I _am_ making some money today.” Chloe laughed, despite feeling completely unlike laughing. “Something wrong, Chlo?”

 

“All’s good. Just a long shift already and got another what, six hours?” Chloe broke and glanced sideways at Calvin, who was openly staring at her now as he exhaled a long stream of smoke. “I’m just out taking a hit or two before going back in. Missed you. I wanted to hear from you.”

 

“Of course. Missing you too. I had a lot of fun this morning. You’re right, it was like the old days. Only we’re actually, you know, getting customers.” This time Max was the one to laugh in a forced tone. Maybe she needed some sleep.

 

“After dinner,” she said, “can we just go to bed and cuddle for a few hours?” That really _was_ all she had in mind, despite her earlier thoughts about a certain brand of frustration. “I think it’s going to be one of those nights.” Max agreed in a quiet tone and then Chloe added, “Well, I better get off so I can get a glass of water before going back to work. Gotta wipe things down and help the new girl with prep before things get busy again.” Almost as soon as they said goodbye to each other she could feel Calvin leering with a new intensity.

 

“You know, you really ought to dump this girl,” he started. She felt the creeping sensation of a coming illness. “My offer still stands. You could be mine and you’d love it.” Chloe tried to make her way to the door but he stepped in front of it to place himself in their path. “Really, I’m a great shag. Get you off women forever.” Chloe closed her eyes and inhaled. When she opened them again she finally let him have it.

 

“Listen, Calvin. You’re a pathetic fucker and will _never_ have a chance with me. Even if I liked men, which I don’t, I would sooner bathe in boiling fucking grease than let you anywhere near me, now step out of my way.” _If this doesn’t do it, then he’s going to be real trouble._ For a moment he seemed surprised, the pockmarked face scrunching up as if unaccustomed to being spoken to honestly, and he probably was. Then, with a much cooler smile, he did step back, though only slightly. Still partially blocking the door he seemed like he wasn’t done with having his say.

 

“You’ll do well to learn some fucking manners when talking to your superiors,” he advised her. “Break’s over. Get back to work.” Chloe didn’t even bother trying to protest. It wasn’t worth the fight. “You’ll see one day,” he told her as she brushed past him to get inside, shuddering all the while. “I’m really not so bad a bloke. You’ll figure it out.” She didn’t turn to look back at him, it was easier to suppress the urge to wash in scorching hot water if she didn’t _see_ him come in after her even though she knew instinctively he was leering lewdly at her retreating form.

 

She worked the rest of the night as quietly as possible, no longer answering anything he said with words, only looks unless a yes or a no was necessary. For that matter, she said very little to anyone and tried not to fuck up her orders to risk anyone having to engage with her too deeply. To their credit it didn’t seem that anyone took too much offense to her silence, though sometimes their sympathetic looks came out looking pitying and that bothered her more than she wanted to admit. _I wonder if Leila puts up with shit like this or if it’s just me?_ _Fucking creep takes it as a challenge._

 

During dinner rush, things got a bit harder but in a way easier, as well. With nothing to focus on but cooking and reading orders, calling for anything that she might need from the clean dishes and warning people that a dish was done and waiting she could mostly tune out the rest of the world and that made ignoring Calvin and his bullshit so much easier. When nine o’clock came, she tossed the rag in her hand to the ground, walked over to her bag, tossed the strap over her shoulder and walked out even as Calvin attempted to speak to her from the office door. _If he follows this time,_ she thought, fishing in her pockets for her house key. Once it was situated firmly between her middle and ring fingers, Chloe hurried to the front of the building and the sidewalk that she would follow until reaching the nearest bus stop.

 

 **I’m so fucking tired. I’m so fucking tired of this. Who the fuck looks at their spoiled ass son and says, ‘I’ll let him control the restaurant attached to** _**my** _ **business?’ He shouldn’t be in any kind of position where he has power over anyone else. Fuck. Today he definitely upped his Creep Quotient. I think I might have to bring the gun with me after all. I could get in all kinds of shit if someone finds it, but I’m not sure he isn’t dangerous now. What the** _**fuck?** _ **It either needs to be with me or Max, not sitting upstairs in a drawer, useless.**

 

Chloe pushed open the door to the apartment later than expected, as the walk back from the final bus ride of the night took longer on shaking, aching legs. She slipped her phone into her pocket to let the message she had just finished composing (‘ _Blair, I’m gonna need to hit you up soon. If I’m not stoned out of my mind after these late shifts, the world’s just not for me,’_ ) send. Max called her name from the kitchen and Chloe turned toward her. It was all Max needed to see the look on her face. As she had done many long nights before and would no doubt do again, Max marched over to her, placed a kiss on her cheek and lead her rather insistently to the table.

 

“Calvin made a move on me again,” she said finally, when she realized that Max was looking at her expectantly. “And we were understaffed all day, and I was pissed, so I really let him have it. He got… pretty shitty, pretty aggressive. I don’t think he’s going to get any better.” Max turned around and brought a pair of plates over from the counter. Chloe didn’t even particularly see the food at first, picking up the fork on the plate by sheer habit.

 

“That idea you had about an early night in bed?” Max started, softly. “It sounds like a good idea.”

 

 _Neither of us is okay,_ Chloe thought.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't even care to find any recognition or proliferation for this fic. I do hope you enjoy, though.

 

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Chapter Seven

  
  


Max tried for the third time that morning to work the crick out of her neck that was making it hard to look down at her laptop.  _Really, Chloe wasn’t the only one who needed a bit of time cuddled up, but we have to work on falling asleep like that and all. It’s nice in a way but this hurts._ Then again, of all reasons to be experiencing a pain in your neck, that was probably one of the better ones. Despite the crick she smiled softly down at her laptop and opened another photo. To be fair it wasn’t just her neck that ached, her arms and especially her right shoulder was  _very_ upset with her. It was worth it though, to bring Chloe a bit of peace and to get to feel closer to her for the night.

  
  


_Honestly, she’s getting worse,_ Max thought,  _the hotel shifts used to just tire her out, now she’s coming back angry_ _and quiet_ _. Like, the kind of angry she used to get about Nathan Prescott or_ _Frank Bowers_ _._ Max clicked off of a picture and then, realizing she had not looked at it, shifted back.  _She needs to quit that place. We have enough of a cushion for Chloe to quit and find a different job if she really needs a second. It’s not right for her to keep exposing herself to that fucker._ Nothing was helped by Chloe’s declaration that morning at breakfast that they  _‘needed to talk’_  at dinner. Why people did that, Max would never understand. It just made her  _nervous. You don’t have time to be nervous, Max. You need to get this shit done._

  
  


Max continued to sort through pictures while mentally composing a message to the company running the printers. She tried to do anything but sit and imagine what kind of conversation Chloe was building up to. It couldn’t possibly be any worse than her worst case scenario, so she really couldn’t afford to think about it. A series of walk-ins and a couple of appointments had kept her busy enough to not really get the latest order sent out by morning. This meant delaying all of her customers being able to come pick them up by at least half a day in the long run.

  
  


**I wonder,** **though,** **what if** **this** **Calvin** **fucker** **isn’t just some random** _**wanker** _ _?_ **He’s really starting to get dangerous. Dangerous like Prescott. Or maybe that’s it, maybe Calvin was always supposed to cause Chloe problems? Maybe a Prescott got to him, bribed him, told him to? I wouldn’t put it past them if they know about me accusing Nathan of having a gun. Then again, someone’s been calling me. Whoever she is, it’s me she wants out of the way. Fuck it, either way, Chloe has to be careful around this guy.**

  
  


It took an hour longer than she expected to finish searching through the photos she had backed up to make sure no major issues existed with any of them. Still, she felt proud as she uploaded them to the server and began composing a message to the printer with a link to the relevant files. In fact, she was downright relieved to press send on that message and bury one more stressful item on her to-do list. Something resembling a good mood was starting to come together when she looked up from her computer, once more trying to bring her neck some basic relief. All hope of relief evaporated very quickly. Just outside of the new front door, a woman with long, brown hair and piercing, insistent green eyes was waiting, looking in at her. Apparently getting Max’s attention was some sort of signal, because the woman opened the door and then walked in, turning the lock to make sure the door would not open again behind her before turning a reaper’s gaze upon her.

  
  


Seeing her so openly, so bluntly was dumbfounding. Rachel Amber, risen as Lazarus, hovered just inside the door in a loose, hanging flannel shirt and pale tee that for some reason Max could not quite keep in her sight. It was as if she could not make herself focus on something so small when there was such a large inconsistency, inaccuracy about the world she knew displayed for that world to see in front of her.  _She’s real._ Rachel looked every bit like the photos Chloe kept around of her, some of them Max knew could be found in a box on the top shelf of their closet even now. She looked fit if only slightly taller than Max. She wore her hair braided in a way that didn’t quite match the style she expected out of the woman but her eyes were  _staring_ right through Max, into her head as if it was so easy to read her mind.  _She’s real._

  
  


Max wanted to vomit, but stayed completely still, blinking only once but finding the woman mercilessly still around when she opened her eyes back up. Rachel’s eyes shifted then, taking in the studio and shaking her head as if in disbelief. Then, she spoke. Rachel Amber, a dead woman, opened her mouth and out came the voice Max had come to dread from a voice mail and a phone call, the one that promised her trouble if she did not give up what belonged to it. In that moment, Max understood all too well what she was supposed to give up, or who. Rachel Amber was here for Chloe and had already made at least one blatant death threat.  _She’s real and I am so_ fucked _._

  
  


“Man,” Rachel started, a faux tone of being impressed tinting her voice. “I like what you’ve done with the place, and all, Max. Don’t mind if I call you Max, right? It’s Max. Never Maxine. I do know that much about you.” Rachel smiled at her and it looked like a cool impersonation of grace, with two straight rows of bright, perfect white teeth. Only she was showing a bit too much in the way of gums, so that Max thought privately that those teeth should be sharpened to a point. “I did prefer the place last time I saw it, about a  _week_ ago or so. Much better decoration. More lived in, right?”  _Of course it was her,_ Max thought. “It looked like someone threw one  _hell_ of a rager in here but don’t get me wrong; the place cleans up nice.”  _This was Rachel,_ Max realized.  _This was all Rachel Amber._ _She’s been in our apartment. She’s been in our bedroom._

  
  


“Speaking of last week,” Rachel continued as she slowly approached the counter. “You seemed pretty upset when I saw you last.” Max felt herself tensing up in her seat. It didn’t help that the brunette was no longer looking around the room, but directly at her. Things only worsened when she walked around the counter and took up a position in the folding chair across from her at the desk. This close up, Max could see risk and beauty, rage and euphoria, heaven and hell all dancing in the woman’s eyes. It did little to calm her fears or her stomach. “I’m not sure why you were so surprised. I warned you a war was on, didn’t I? I gave you a fair warning.” When Max did not speak, did not reach for her phone, did not budge an inch, Rachel’s tone changed entirely. It was a veil dropping away, no pretense of friendliness in her face and none of neutrality in her voice.

  
  


“I told you, you have what I want. You have what is mine. Chloe Price,” Max’s fears confirmed she shifted in her seat, trying to find the will to just  _move._ _Get away from her, fast._ “Chloe is mine, Max, not yours and now the gloves are coming off.” Rachel leaned closer to her, deadly serious as she looked ready to lunge across the desk. “You will leave Chloe and get away from here, right now, or you will lose everything. Do you understand me?” Rachel paused, waiting in quiet for a response which never came. If Max tried to make a sound she feared it would be pitiful and panicked and she wasn’t ready to give Rachel the satisfaction. The mental image in her head of the entire building burning to the ground was already giving Rachel far more control over her than she deserved.

  
  


_Call the cops,_ she told herself,  _Call the cops and… and tell them what? A dead woman is in my studio threatening me? Will they get here in time if she tries to hurt me? If she tries to leave? Then what? I get to tell Chloe and she thinks I’m losing my fucking mind even more than she already does?_ Her eyes strayed from Rachel’s face where they had been frozen in fear for some time to the cellphone sitting just beside her laptop. Rachel’s seemed to follow because shortly after the woman laughed, but settled back into her chair.

  
  


“Don’t bother, Max,” she counseled, a tone like someone advising a friend to avoid a bad potential significant other. “You’re smarter than that. Rachel Amber is  _dead_ right? You saw to it that everyone knew it. Don’t you think her father’s friends saw to it that it stayed that way?” Rachel leaned back in her seat again. “He was a rather powerful man with powerful friends and enough money to make the Prescotts second guess fucking with him. He’s gone, but the rest of it? I will use  _all_ of that, bring it  _all_ down on your head if you don’t pack up and get out of my way.”

  
  


“Fuck you!” Her voice sounded desperate to her own ears. Either way the spell of Rachel’s presence was broken. Max thought that if she tried her trembling limbs would move again.  _Fucking knock her on her ass and run, Max. Just run._ Her arms and legs tensed as she readied herself to jump to her feet.

  
  


“Honey, only in your wettest, most delusional dreams.” That seemed to be all the reaction Rachel had to her outburst and it dampened the small spark of defiance that was starting to grow inside her.  _The phone is right there. Just reach for it. She’ll probably go away. Right? Even her father’_ _s friends_ _can’t protect her if she kills you in broad daylight._ “You know, you’re quite the mystery. The police in Arcadia Bay didn’t know what to make of you reporting all these things. The few digital records I can get suggest you were probably involved in them somehow. Person of interest, right? What would your family, what would the  _police_ think about this theory that Max Caulfield was dealing drugs to an elite group of rich pricks from Blackwell Academy?” Max swallowed involuntarily. “Oh, you don’t like that idea, do you?”

  
  


“Something brought you into close contact with that  _pig_ Nathan Prescott, delusional fucker that thought he could a girl alive and leave her to suffocate.” Rachel tilted her head and looked at her with those eyes that Max could easily find to be very pretty if they weren’t screaming for vengeance. “Just one way I can fuck you  _up,_ Max. I can make people look into what you were doing, how you found all of that out. Or better, I can just make it up. Money, power, ties to people in law enforcement, all of that is really helpful. With Arcadia Bay destroyed you’ll probably never go to jail, but I could ruin you and leave you a suspect for the rest of your life.” The idea seemed to amuse Rachel, who began to glance about the room again. “Certainly, you wouldn’t have the chance to do any good business after a scandal like that.”

  
  


“That won’t work,” Max replied, unsure even as she said it. Rachel turned back to stare into her eyes for several seconds before standing up. She took her time making one last loop of the front of the studio. She touched nothing, but she did seem to pass her hands over the length of the counter, stop just short of caressing an item on it here or pushing aside a paper there. After a momentshe stopped at the front door and unlocked it.

  
  


“Listen, Max, this is the last friendly little chit-chat we’re going to have. If I come back here, it gets very nasty,” Max raised her head higher, trying to appear defiant. “It’s your move, Max Caulfield. If you’ve got an ounce of common sense that move will be back to Seattle with mommy and daddy and  _without_ Chloe. LA was never yours, Max. Never. Give her up, you’re not woman enough for her anyway.” The door shut behind Rachel on her way out and Max couldn’t help it: she yelled. She just yelled, until her throat hurt and she felt like it was no longer releasing any pent up anxiety or fear.

  
  


**Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!**

  
  


Only a few blocks away in the grand scheme of things, Chloe was happily letting the door to Rays Diner shut behind her. It wasn’t the hardest shift in the world but somehow despite having gotten a fair amount of sleep, the stress of the prior day and waking up sore this morning had made it feel a lot worse than it was. With some surprise as she stepped out the door, Chloe slid to the side to admit a customer by habit and found herself looking up into the face of one of her morning regulars, Frank.

  
  


“ _Jesus wept,_ child, you look like you’ve just gone on a walkabout in the desert. Are you alright?” Frank came to a stop a few steps from her and instead of entering, he seemed to adjust the tie he was wearing ( _that’s odd, he doesn’t dress up for much. Hell, he told me he went to his son’s funeral in a jacket and some jeans)_ and fixed her with a very Frank-like gaze.  _Why does he have to share a name with that prick?_ she asked herself for not the first time since meeting the older man. “Chloe? Shouldn’t you be commenting on how I look out of sorts in my suit or really ought to shave if I want to look nice or something of the sort?” Chloe shook her head, smiling softly. “Damn, now I am worried.” For some reason, when Frank put his hand on her forearm she did not find herself tensing as he pulled her out of the way of the front door and then crossed his arms. “Now tell me what the hell’s going on? Judy’s not working you too hard, is she? I know I’m usually a charming bastard, but I can be quite cross when I want to be.”  _Charming, huh? Grouchy fucker._

  
  


“Nah, you know Judy, she’s good people,” Chloe replied. After a moment of contemplation she leaned against the wall.

  
  


“Well, you look like you’re about to drop and hon, I know what a face looks like when someone’s mind is on the worst kind of things it can be on. I’ve seen wars abroad and battles in our streets. You look like you’re fresh out of one kind of a war zone or another.” Chloe tilted her head and contemplated for a moment whether or not she wanted to be entirely honest with Frank. Finally she decided some cautious honesty wouldn’t hurt anyone.  _It’s not like I’ve been honest where it matters most, lately._

  
  


“The diner can’t really give me the hours I need so I picked up another job a few months back. The owner thinks he’s God’s gift to women and last night he got pretty rough when I told him he wasn’t getting me in bed,” she tried to play it off, but it wasn’t something small and she knew Frank understood damn well what it meant that she was telling him this. “He’s a problem and I’m running out of solutions that don’t get me hurt or fired.” She could see the urge in Frank’s eyes to give her a hug but to his credit he resisted and instead leaned up against the wall beside her, giving a grunt that reminded her too much of one of her co-workers, Pete.

  
  


“Mind if I give you a piece of advice?” Chloe shook her head. “Right, why would you? I’m a genius. Anyway,” he continued suddenly as she shook her head yet again, “you’re still young. Live like you’re still young. If that means you don’t have a ton of money, then so be it. If you have to live like a dog to get what you need, food and such or maybe a trip out of town when it gets to be too much, then so be it. There’s time to be miserable later, when you’re my age. For now, do whatever it takes to be happy.” He started to reach for his wallet and Chloe was instantly confused even though she was trying to give his advice genuine consideration. It was easy to see what he meant but sometimes not so easy to convince herself that that was the right course of action. “My advice, Chloe dear? Quit that job. Scrape by til you find another. In the meantime,” he pulled a card of some sort out and passed it to her. “If you need help with anything, if you need advice, information on how to get resources, anything, you call Marcus. He loves the hell out of you and while he probably couldn’t be your counselor himself, if you felt you needed therapy, he can help you get processed nice and quickly and get a time set up.”

  
  


“Thanks, Frank,” she replied, genuinely. The business card was definitely for Frank’s husband, Marcus where he worked at a local mental health clinic. Chloe almost dismissed the card as she slid it into her pocket, but there came the idea that  _maybe_ she could convince Max to go to a therapist if she herself knew the man ahead of time. They parted as abruptly as they met and Chloe started the trip home properly with Frank’s words weighing on her mind alongside so many thoughts voiced and unvoiced. It was better to leave some thoughts as ideas, impressions instead of giving them full form and the sense of guilt waiting in the distance was not doing her or anyone else any good right now.

  
  


Chloe was drawing nearer to the apartment when her phone began to ring insistently. Struck by a desire to hear Max’s voice, whatever the cause, Chloe stopped to dig it out of her pocket. She did not especially bother to check who was calling: Blair and Judy were in the diner, Calvin wouldn’t dare call her phone again and everyone else was dead. This more or less meant that Max was the only likely suspect to be calling. As she continued along her path, Chloe answered.

  
  


“Hey,” she greeted. There was a brief pause, before a low voice answered.

  
  


“Hello, Ms. Price?” Chloe blinked but tried to shake off the sort of jarring surprise.

  
  


“Yeah, this is Chloe Price,” she answered. “Who’s calling?”

  
  


“I’m Officer McKinney from the LAPD, we spoke last week, briefly while your partner was being checked out?” She felt unseasonably cool as she answered.

  
  


“Yeah?” Chloe knew desperation was going to be obvious in her voice but she wasn’t sure what to do about it except ride the moment out.

  
  


“Well, as much as I hate to say this, we’ve managed to secure an alibi from just about anyone whose fingerprints were found at the scene that you or Ms. Caulfield noted might have a reason for hostility.” Chloe wasn’t aware of slowing down, but she did. In fact, she was slow enough coming up with a response that the officer spoke. “Ms. Price?”

  
  


“Yeah, sorry, I heard you. Um, have you called Max about this?”

  
  


“We were unable to get an answer, left a voicemail, but that’s not the sort of thing I would inform someone about over voicemail. Look, I’m sorry. If either of you come up with anything else, please call me immediately.”

  
  


Chloe was quiet for the rest of the trip home. She did not feel the urge to put in her earbuds as she so often did and the idea of calling Max, who was probably busy with a customer, seemed less appealing than it had when her phone rang.  _So in the end,_ she thought as she turned onto her own street.  _Max was right. It was a big old, ‘Nothing we can do.’ Score one for the LAPD._ By this point, Chloe was getting used to feeling  _powerless._ After Rachel vanished without a trace she often felt completely powerless and for a few glorious months Max had taken that away. Now, with her girlfriend in danger, Chloe was beginning to feel the old familiar sting of just not being able to do  _anything_ about it.

  
  


_No one’s taking Max from me,_  she told herself for the umpteenth time.  _I will kick wholesale ass if I have to. Back off, fuckers. This one’s mine._ ‘This one’ became quickly visible through the new front door of the studio. Chloe did not bother waving in greeting at first as Max was leaning back in her chair, looking either at a document on the counter or the ceiling, clearly on the phone with someone.  _Maybe she’s talking to the cops, after all._ Though, it seemed unlikely. Whoever Max was on the phone with was causing her significant exasperation. Most likely, Max was having a conversation with her mother. It was not going well, to boot, judging by how upset and exhausted the photographer looked when she finally matched Chloe’s eyes through the door.

  
  


Chloe offered her attempt at a smile as she waved and Max answered in kind. The moment said enough to tell her what kind of day Max had been having.  _Well, if we’re both beat to fuck, frozen dinners it is._ Chloe climbed the stairs and unlocked their door quickly. For just a moment after she stepped in and dropped her bag beside the door she felt a surge of paranoia. It was enough that Chloe took the time to move from room to room before returning to the kitchen. It wasn’t likely to take a long time for Max to follow her upstairs, so she pulled two frozen TV dinners from the freezer, leaving one boxed on the counter. As to her own, Chloe started that cooking before discarding her boots and changing out of work clothes. Chloe was already settled on the couch, flipping through channels and picking at reheated potatoes, peas and chicken when Max finally shut the front door behind her.

  
  


“Hey, your food’s in the microwave. Just needs to run through for five minutes,” she called before Max stepped farther into the living room and could be seen.  _Yikes,_ Chloe thought. As dead as Chloe felt on her feet, Max looked worse.  _What kind of a day has_ she  _had? Why the fuck is everything so damn bad right now?_ The thought brought Calvin back to her mind, so she could not indulge it for too long. Max finally got some sort of greeting out before hurrying off to the kitchen. Several short beeps later, the photographer fell unceremoniously onto the couch beside Chloe. Neither ate much at first and neither seemed to know where to begin talking. After the third time one of them caressed the other’s hand in a simple gesture of recognition and affection, Chloe found enough will to speak.

  
  


“How was the day?” she asked, genuinely curious. Max stared blankly ahead at first, in a way not dissimilar to her state after the studio was discovered, wrecked. “Max?”

  
  


“No,” Max said, suddenly as she turned to look at Chloe. “It’s nothing big. I think I’m just a little more tired than usual. It’s not like much even happened today,” Chloe tried to tell herself her girlfriend was not speaking too quickly, too insistently. “I mean, yeah, a couple walk-ins and about four different appointments, but I’ve had busier days. Shittier ones too.” After a second, during which Chloe told herself to give Max the benefit of the doubt and  _stop projecting,_ the brunette turned toward her. “What about you, Chloe?”

  
  


“Slightly shittier lunch rush than normal,” she answered, setting her fork down. Three or four impulses flared at once. She wanted to talk to Max about seeing a counselor and she wanted to ask Max if she was holding something back.  _Trust me, Price, you don’t want to go down that route right now._ “Ran into Frank after, shot the shit for a little bit. He thinks I should quit the hotel.”

  
  


“I’ve always thought he was smart,” Max responded, as if that was all the answer there needed to be.

  
  


 

“He is, isn’t he?” Chloe responded, though deep down she knew she had yet to make her decision. 


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't expect to find any special recognition or proliferation for this fic. I do hope you enjoy, though.

 

Author's Note: I'm sorry for the delay, but it has been a very trying time. Thank you to all reading for your support on this story. I'd just like to take this opportunity to ask you all a favor. Think of the people in your life who suffer from depression, anxiety or other emotional issues. I don't care if they're the strongest people you know or what. Just reach out to them and tell them you love them. You never know.  

 

* * *

 

Chapter Eight

 

 _Okay,_ Max thought and even the voice in her head slow and confused as she turned the cart in front of her toward produce.  _So, you goofed up earlier. It’s only going to be worse for both of you if you keep thinking about it. She’s not stupid, she can see it on your face._ Max glanced sideways at Chloe whow as looking exaggeratedly interested as they slowed beside the veggies.  _So you asked her what Paris was like, so what?_ So what, she had to admit, was that she was as embarrassed as she was worried about upsetting Chloe. It did not make sense that she couldn’t keep these kinds of things straight. Chloe seemed to have it in her mind that Max was mixing up a hundred alternate histories. The fact was, at worst, she was really just mixing up two or three. Of course Chloe,  _her_ Chloe had never been to Paris. The Price family fell on very hard times once her father died.

 

“What do you think?” Chloe asked. “Veggie soup?” Max nodded absentmindedly, but then reprimanded herself and tuned in a bit more completely. “You’re fine with that, right?”

 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Max replied. “Shouldn’t be so bad. Carrots, peas, onion, corn, oh and how about green peppers?” The two sifted through produce, turning options over in their hands and trying to get what looked freshest. A small prepackaged container of mushrooms followed a bagged green pepper into the cart to rest atop a cheap loaf of bread. “That’s about all we have any chance in hell of carrying back,” she replied, grimacing. Public transportation was bad enough without carrying a fair amount of food, but loaded down with groceries you wanted badly to get into the refrigerator before they spoiled, the trip could be a little on the stressful side.

 

Chloe seemed in agreement as she fell back in step with Max, an arm snaking about her waist in a gesture that was awfully personal and affectionate for Chloe out in public. Max decided to enjoy it instead of over-analyzing. There were plenty of other things in her head to fixate on. Like the look on Chloe’s face when, on the way to the store she was forced to explain to Max that, no, she had never set foot out of the United States, much less made it all the way to Paris, though she had once met a man from Quebec who was fluent in French. The ghost of her frustration threatened to make Max blush (a sensation she  _was not familiar with_ ) as they got to the front of the store and took up place in an unfortunately extensive line for one of the three counters open. The store speakers sputtered out the song ‘time after time’ faintly but this did little to soothe the jittery feeling inside her.

 

“Well, fuck,” Chloe said over the music, with resignation in her tone. “We’ll be here for a while.” There was a brief pause while Max tried to pull herself together and Chloe chose to fill that, shifting on her heels to more easily glance at the photographer. “I think that soup might be a good idea tonight, actually. I’ll help. When’s the last time we actually cooked together?”

 

“When’s the last time we actually cooked?” Max retorted, trying to make the smile seem genuine and not forced. “Frozen dinners and hamburgers for like, the past week. Soup sounds like a godsend.” There was nothing  _wrong_ with hamburgers and baked potatoes or something of that nature, but once in a while Max got a little bit  _bored_ with things like that. The only one of them really qualified to cook anything of any complexity did enough cooking in her day jobs, and Max had learned just enough to take the stress off. Privately, she felt a little guilty she had never asked her mother to teach her more. This was, unfortunately, just one more thing she and Chloe shared, as Chloe often regretted that she did not take advantage of having someone who really knew what they were doing in her life.   
  
_And now neither of us know what we’re doing, in much of anything._ Chloe shot Max a concerned look at hearing the bitter laugh she let loose and that was enough to really draw her back to her senses as they approached the counter. She turned back, intent on telling Chloe she would start unloading from the front only to see the woman’s brow furrowing briefly, before she rolled her eyes. Max raised an eyebrow, waiting.

 

“I forgot something,” Chloe admitted, looking moderately embarrassed. “You go ahead, I”ll be right back.”

 

“Gotcha,” Max replied. “Hey,” she added as Chloe started to turn away. This earned a quick glance back. “Hurry back.” Max was rewarded with a genuine, wide smile.

 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Max Price.” Though she could almost  _swear_ she felt her heart skip a small beat, Max grinned as she leaned forward and began to place things from their cart in reach of the cashier who was trying his best not to engage the woman in front of them in any kind of discussion.

 

“I like the sound of that, get on with that whole ring thing, Chloe Caulfield.”

 

“I’m not a Marvel character,” Chloe shot back, before flitting off toward the back of the store. Max did not precisely rush in unloading the cart, with Chloe absent. Whatever was holding up the person in line ahead of them meant that it was pointless to hurry anyway. Shortly after she finished unloading the produce, Max lifted her head to see what the hold-up was. Over the shoulder of the woman in front of her, though, she could see through the window at the front of the store. The blooming good mood died as Max matched eyes with a brunette on the other side of the glass, whose hawk-like hazel eyes were staring pointedly at Max as she waved.

 

With her right hand making a shape that Max interpreted to resemble a telephone, Rachel was walking along, outside the store, making sure that Max had good sight of her. She was simultaneously upset and mesmerized by the woman in the dark tee when a hand came down on her shoulder, causing her to jump. When she looked back, Chloe was glancing her over, concerned. The woman who was ahead of them in line was gone and the cashier was staring expectantly at her. Chloe looked like she wanted to ask a question or two and the couple behind them were looking irritated from behind their full cart.  _Wait,_ Max thought, turning back to the window suddenly. She started to raise her arm, to point at Rachel, but the woman was long gone. Looking back at Chloe revealed no change in her mood.

 

“Nothing,” she said, swallowing almost audibly. “I think my mind wandered a bit, sorry.” The women dug the remaining groceries from their cart in silence. Max didn’t want to try to read the look on Chloe’s face. She did not want to explain what happened.  _Chloe will never believe this._ It took them a minute, together, to unload the cart and Max wasn’t even sure what Chloe added to their purchase, paying very little attention as the cashier rang them up at a surprisingly casual pace considered his earlier impatience.

 

“You getting sick?” Chloe asked, cautiously. “You look like it. I can do the cooking and you can get some sleep, you know?” Max shook her head, then tilted it instead, hedging.

 

“Stomach’s a bit upset,” she admitted, both truthfully and regretfully. Just the  _sight_ of Rachel Amber was enough to make her nauseous. The woman was a walking, talking, breathing bag of trouble and Max was firmly in her sights.  _No more lies, right? Not even by omission._ Max swallowed again, picking up one or two of the bags. The couple sifted through and shuffled bags about until they were balanced enough between the two to allow the walk to the nearest bus stop.  _You’re probably sick because you know you’re lying your ass off. This is_ Rachel,  _Max. Chloe would want to know she’s alive._

 

They were both worse for the wear when they stepped off a bus a couple of blocks from home. Max’s feet hurt enough as it was, she couldn’t imagine how Chloe felt going about in those  _damn_ boots. They managed the rest of the trip in a silence that she hoped was comfortable for Chloe, because it sure wasn’t, for her. Try as she might to treat this like any other trip to the store, her silence was more because of the focus she put on their surroundings. Eventually, Chloe noticed this.

 

“What are you looking for?” Chloe asked, having no doubt noticed Max’s head turning to and fro. To her credit, Max came up with what she felt was a fairly effective lie on the spot.

 

“Thinking of where to hang a new set of fliers,” she replied. “I’d really like people who are in the area to know there’s a place like Arcadia Studio in the neighborhood.” Chloe seemed to accept this, nodding in agreement. She was entirely unaware that Max was on the lookout for the woman Chloe once loved with enough of a furioscity to chase down answers from dangerous people like Frank Bower. “I know things have been picking up, but I need to do better if I want to do my part to keep this place.”

 

“Hey,” Chloe said, slowing suddenly. “You  _are_ doing your part. Yeah, we’re not exactly where we need to be yet, but we’re  _getting there._ Honestly, I thought we’d have to pack up and fuck off by now, but we’re doing a lot better.” Max looked the woman over, momentarily letting her guard down and ignoring their surroundings as they approached the studio. “Look, I want you to start bringing in the big bucks as much as you do. You deserve it for all the work you put in, but let’s be real: you’re already doing the work. Get me?” Chloe smiled at her, looking like she wanted to reach out but finding herself ultimately unable to, thanks to the various bags that were beginning to cause her notable discomfort.  _Makes two of us,_ Max thought, momentarily distracted from the specter of a Rachel Amber reappearance.

 

**Maybe she doesn’t want to resurface until I’m fuckin’ gone. It might make sense to her, to give Chloe time to get used to me being away before she comes out of hiding. Well, fuck** _**that** _ **noise. I’m going to leave Chloe when I’m cold and dead. If she thinks she can make that happen sooner, then that’s what she’ll have to do. Asshole.**

 

Despite the bravado she still felt a sense of foreboding when she set several of her bags down and unlocked the front door. The joys of putting away food were followed quickly by pulling out a cutting board and a relatively new paring knife which still cut through things like green peppers with some speed and precision. The two talked about a whole lot of nothing while Max chopped veggies. It was rather comforting. Topics ranged from as inane as what they wanted to watch on television that night to only about as in depth as, ‘Hey, I think we should have Blair over for dinner soon.”

  
  


Max did her best, then, to keep her calm mask in place as they spoke, as a large bowl of vegetables joined the waiting broth on the stove. As soon as that was done, Max was out of manual labor to keep her thoughts from straying too far. In the end, her preoccupation with keeping calm was evident enough to again draw Chloe’s attention.   
  
“What’s up, Max?” she turned toward the cook, and contemplated a response, deciding on selective honesty.   
  
“I’m thinking we need a little something with the soup,” Max replied, though she swore she could see disbelief in Chloe’s eyes. “Grab the ham out of the fridge, will you?”

  
  


“Fuck yeah,” Chloe replied with enthusiasm that Max heard as forced, false. Within a few minutes, soup and sandwiches were waiting on the table and Max had convinced Chloe to pick out a film to watch. It was while Max was washing up and letting dinner cool that she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Chloe was audibly sifting through DVDs and muttering only half to Max, mostly to herself about each one.  _As long as she’s not in a Blade Runner mood,_ Max thought.  _I’ll be fine._ Expecting firmly to hear her mother once more demanding that she listen to Chloe and see a counselor, Max answered cautiously.

  
  


“Hello,” she started, trying to be heard over the sound of a film starting in the living room. Chloe cursed, apparently trying and failing to get the film to pause. With no towel in reach, Max wiped her wet, sudsy left hand against her jeans, then shifted the phone to that hand and that ear to let her turn the faucet off. Even shifting phone from ear to ear or trying to listen over Chloe or the running water did nothing to obscure the identity of her caller once she spoke, shattering Max’s attempt to shake her experience at the store.

  
  


“Don’t get me wrong,” the voice on the other line said, forgoing any pleasantries. “You two really  _do_ make a cute couple.” Max leaned against the counter, suddenly not so convinced of the strength of her legs. The water stopped, faucet no longer turning beneath her hand. “But you have to understand what’s happening here, Max. If I can’t have Chloe, no one can. You get that, right?”  _No._ In the other room, she could hear Chloe lighting up as she sank back onto the couch. As the woman once said, ‘everything tastes better with the munchies.’ “You’re there, right, Max?” The woman on the other end of the phone laughed once, and it sounded humorless, sharp like a knife passing through the air. “Of course you are. Nothing has made Max Caulfield sit up and take notice like Chloe Price. Well, except Mark Jefferson, right? That was some essay you wrote to get into Blackwell, but, that’s really not why I’m calling.”

  
  


“Why then?” she asked, trying to keep her voice low.

  
  


“What?” Chloe called from the living room. Max didn’t answer.

  
  


“It’s simple, Max. Chloe was always supposed to be mine. She should have been  _months_ ago, but you swoop in, taking advantage of the situation, a great big carrion bird. Well, honey, the wolf who bagged that kill you’re pecking at is back. She’s mine or she’s no one’s.” Max heard footsteps, and was aware suddenly of Chloe approaching the kitchen. “We’ve played this game too long. Five days, Max. That’s all you have.” Chloe appeared around the corner and Max felt panic for the first time in the entire discussion.

  
  


“I’ve got to go, mom,” she said, trying desperately to cover her ass. “I’ll call you later.” In her ear, that sharp, bladed laugh sounded.

  
  


“Bye bye,” Rachel responded. The phone line went dead. Max let the phone settle on the counter, turning to face Chloe. The woman’s brow was furrowed in concern and for a moment she looked Max over, before passing the joint. Max accepted without a moment’s hesitation.

  
  


“So,” Chloe started once Max was distracted enough not to be able to think too quickly. “Your mom about the counselor again?” For the first time since she and Chloe had their fight at the bar weeks ago, Max felt genuine self loathing as she responded.

  
  


“Yeah,” she agreed.

  
  


“You really ought to listen to her.”

  
  


“Maybe.”

  
  


_Nothing good would come of telling the truth,_ Max reminded herself for the hundredth time as she sat down beside Chloe.  _Either she thinks I’m more nuts than she already does, or she thinks I’m lying. There is no outcome where Chloe believes her ex has come back from the dead and threatened her life. Once I catch Rachel, then I can tell Chloe all of it. Then I can beg her to forgive me._ Max brought a spoonful of soup to her lips, recoiling slightly as the hot metal brushed them.  _If she tells me to fuck off, well then it’s more than I deserve._ Chloe glanced at her with concern. That was becoming common again.  _Fuck._

  
  


\---

As if taunting her, the song ‘Closing Time’ was playing through Max’s laptop from the kitchen table when Chloe shut the door behind her, cupping her cramping right hand in her left. From head to toe, every part of her body felt signigficantly heavier than it should. Max called out a greeting from near the fridge and Chloe pulled herself together enough to kick off her boots. Sure that some sort of reply was called for, she tried to formulate one that did not immediately dump her emotional state on Max. She could typically purge most of that on the way home, but tonight was not a typical night, not in the least.

  
  


“Chloe?” the music stopped and Max stepped around the corner, face contorted in worry. “Doin’ alright?”

  
  


“No,” she replied, honestly. “I need a beer.”

  
  


“Want me to warm you up some soup?” Chloe shook her head and sat her bag by the door before a far-too unsteady arm reached out to Max. The photographer moved in without hesitation and Chloe tried to calm down just a bit more. “No?”

  
  


“Nope. I need a beer.” Chloe released her and glanced once across Max’s face, trying to read it. Try as she might nothing jumped out that suggested she was going to react any worse than she might usually. “Calvin took a step up from Creep to Problem,” she admitted, cradling her right hand in her left. She saw Max’s eyes ease down to take in the gesture and released it, trying to redirect her attention. Max lead her from the entrance way into the kitchen, and Chloe felt self-conscious in recognizing that Max intentionally and pointedly did so holding loosely to her left hand.  _Fuck,_ she thought.  _Maybe I can tell her. No, this is bigger. More important._

  
  


On the counter, a pair of bowls sat beside a large, lidded pot that contained what remained of the soup the pair had cooked earlier that day, which felt far longer ago than it really was. Chloe looked up, genuinely smiling when Max sat two beers on the table and then dropped into a seat opposite of her. She took a long drink from the mercifully cool bottle and considered exactly just what to do about her new problem.  _Not new,_ she thought,  _more like it’s worse now._ After a moment, though she jumped slightly as Max interrupted her.

  
  


“So, spill it.”

  
  


“What?” she asked, concerned as she rested her sore hand against the bottle. “Oh yeah, Calvin.” Chloe shook her head. “How fucked up is it that I have to worry about shit like this when someone’s breaking in and shit?” Max simply stared pointedly until she continued. It wasn’t exactly fun to think about, but Max always had her back and though that was a small comfort in the moment, she figured it was better to be up front, at least about this. “So, I was out on break and,” she gave half a shrug. “He was up to his usual shit. Followed me outside, propositioned me. I was getting more pissed off than usual. I guess I’m losing my patience with his bullshit.” Max nodded, as if to say it was natural, and Chloe agreed. “He was pretty aggressive this time. At one point, he actually grabbed me.” She bit her lip in contemplation, then finally confessed, “I mean, he’s scared me before? But this time I was  _pretty fucking_ scared.” Max reached across the table and took her right hand in her own. Chloe winced slightly but hoped it was not noticed.

  
  


“I kicked him in balls and told him if he ever came near me outside of the restaurant again, I was going to do worse. I expected him to fire me right there.” Chloe squeezed her hand back. “I wish he had.”

  
  


“Quit,” Max said, suddenly. “I’m serious. Get away from that place.”

  
  


“I’ll put in my two weeks next shift,” she said. “Either he’ll fire me on the spot or I’ll ride out the next two weeks and I just won’t take breaks outside.” Max shook her head and Chloe took her meaning without her having to speak. “I know, I know, but if it looks like I left under good terms, maybe I can get a nicer job? Get me away from the grill and up front. I can take a hundred- a thousand Calvins in the dining room before I’d take one back in the kitchen where I can’t just  _walk away_ when it gets bad.”

  
  


“I really want to hold you right now.”

  
  


“I could really use a fucking hug.” The admission didn’t feel like one of weakness. She was just matching Max’s blunt honesty with her own. And it was easy to understand why Max would react like that: there was  _nothing_ she could do beyond be there for Chloe. The earlier hug had been the embodiment of brief worry. This one was deep, loving and the only real downside to it was that she couldn’t return her attention to her beer (or the hopefully three or four more sure to follow.) She let out a shaky breath.

  
  


Once they pulled apart, Max stepped away from the table and began to ladle herself out some soup. Chloe shook her head when the photographer raised the ladle in offering. After a moment of silence, during which she sipped her drink and mercifully found herself not overthinking the quiet, Chloe glanced up as Max sat down opposite of her, a bowl plopping loudly down on the table, then opened her mouth and began to speak in a pretentious English accent.

  
  


“I say, dear lady. I do think I  _am_ the good lord’s gift to all of lady kind.” Chloe closed her eyes and looked down, shaking her head. Then again, she couldn’t fight the smile crossing her lips. “Why not join me on my yacht? After all, fine wine, good music and the beautiful sight of the ocean might make up for the disappointing ten seconds of sex later.”

  
  


“Not a chance,” she replied, finally. Feeling a positive emotion for the first time in hours, she would have reached across to hug the woman again if there wasn’t a spoon full of warm broth in the photographer’s hand. Instead, Chloe drained her bottle and stood to go to the fridge. She was only one or two good drinks into the next bottle before Max shifted from her nearly jovial attitude to drop something of a bomb.

  
  


“Take the gun that Mark got you. Bring it with you, at least until you quit the job at the hotel.” She looked up. Chloe might not be having the difficulties recalling things that Max had been over the last few weeks but even she couldn’t help but wonder if her memory was a bit faulty in that moment.  _Wasn’t Max always the one who didn’t care much for the guns and shit like that?_ She couldn’t help but look the woman over with an eye out for changes. Nothing special stuck out, but she couldn’t  _help it._ “I’m serious.” The photographer did  _sound_ serious, speaking like she was trying to make a deal, to nudge a stubborn loved one toward a good decision.  _That’s probably exactly what she thinks she’s doing._

  
  


“I mean, if anyone should be carrying that around, maybe it’s the person whose  _studio_ got raided a few days ago.” She didn’t mean to sound quite so snippy in response, but it certainly showed on Max’s face that the tone hit home. Max grew quiet for a moment, just long enough for Chloe to think, frustrated that she was  _not_ going to apologize to Max. If she wouldn’t carry the weapon, why would Chloe?  _I’m more likely to get caught with it and less likely to need it._  Even as she considered this, she was not entirely sure on that last point.

  
  


“Look, bring it with you on your shifts to the hotel. You’re right, this guy’s not just some garden variety creep anymore. He might hurt you. I’m not gonna let that happen, if I can help it.” Max’s voice became slightly less emotional but more emphatic. “I’ll bring it down with me to the studio on the other days, if that’s what it’ll take.” This, was at least, compromise enough but it didn’t take away the risk that one or both of them would be discovered with it and the trouble they could get into. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” Max added.

  
  


“I know you’re not,” Chloe replied. “I’m just, angry.”  _I’m angry all the time, and I hope you don’t see it._ She couldn’t add that, that would open up too many doors to too many questions that were not worth going into until whoever was fucking with Max was dealt with. After several seconds, Max did not respond. When Chloe looked up, the woman was not eating, she was not speaking, instead she was staring blankly down at the table. Chloe raised the bottle to her lips and nearly drained the last of it, though she could not help but shiver at the sight, remembering Max looking behaving similarly when found amid the rubble that was at one time her studio. “Max, what are you doing right now?”

  
  


“I’m worrying,” she replied, lifting her head. A self-depreciating smile settled on her lips. Whether it was meant to say,  _‘aren’t I always?’_ or ‘ _like I’m the one who should be worrying right now.’_ Chloe did not attempt to find out. She reached out with her left hand and again took Max’s. “What?”

  
  


“What are you worrying about?”

  
  


“Everything.” This reply was different. There was no attempt at deflecting with humor. She was not speaking strong or confident, this was practically a whisper, almost all breath and no voice. “This woman’s threatening me. I don’t remember what happened in the studio. My girlfriend’s being threatened by some entitled, rich fuckin’ pig. I’m getting  _confused_ all the time. I’m worried you think I’m losing my mind. I’m worried if you knew everything going on in my head, the stuff I can’t  _figure out_ you’d be  _sure_ I was going nutso.” It all came rather like a waterfall and, most alarmingly, she could see  _guilt_ on Max’s face.  _Why? For telling me all this when I’m upset? Does she think I’ve never had to run from some creep before? Does she think I don’t give a fuck what’s happening?_

  
  


“Don’t worry, Max. Crazy or not, you’re mine. When you’re ready to tell me about the rest of it, I’ll be here.” Chloe exhaled. “Yeah, I’m actually fuckin’ terrified of Calvin sometimes and I think you’re probably right that I need to be worried about him stepping up after tonight, but unless something worse happens there, it’s just one more piece of shit on top of Shit Mountain and we’re climbing it together.” Max nodded and did not speak nor resume eating, so Chloe drank and Chloe waited.

  
  


“I guess I wanna know if you’re mad that I,” Max hesitated and then finally said, “that I’m keeping things from you. The things I can’t figure out how to say.” Chloe shook her head and then stopped and nodded.

  
  


“Yeah,” she admitted. “I’m actually a tiny bit pissed.” She held her thumb and forefinger slightly apart. “But, I get it?” Chloe added, feeling guilty. “There’s a lot of things that it’s hard to tell people or show people. Figure it out. When you do, I’ll be here. In the meantime, if you’re ever, you know, in danger? Fuck making it sound right. Just tell me.” Chloe felt exposed under Max’s stare.  _She knows,_ whispered a voice that barely sounded like hers. Eventually, with some strange mix of relief and exhaustion Max returned to eating and Chloe stood up to get another beer.  _Not okay. She knows she’s not okay._ Why was that a relief to know?

  
  


“I know you don’t want to go see that therapist your mom suggested. I get it, you think he was overly interested in what went on in Arcadia Bay. But, if you remember Frank? His husband’s a counselor.” Max raised an eyebrow from behind her bowl, apparently not put off enough to forget to put up a front against this idea. “Look, he probably can’t take you on because you’ve talked to Frank a few times, but he could get you in to the best person there, I’m sure. they’d be happy to help. They’re good people.” Max nodded.

  
  


“I’d-” again, hesitation as the photographer carefully picked her words. “I’m less against it now and all, but we’d have the same problem. I can’t tell whoever about what actually happened back in Oregon. I can’t tell them about  _any_ of it, whether time travel or not. They’d put me away. Like, deep away.” Chloe sighed, but Max reached out as if to ask her to wait and listen. She did. “I wouldn’t be able to make any progress not telling them anything, right? It’d be the same as working it out on my own-” perhaps seeing the look forming on Chloe’s face, she clarified, “working it out with you and I.”

  
  


 

“You’re right,” Chloe said, “the risk is pretty big but,” now it was Chloe’s turn to pick and choose her wording. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” No sooner had she spoken the words then Max seemed to sag slightly. Chloe rose to her feet and walked to the other side of the table, setting aside her beer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Just like you don’t want anything to happen to me, right?” Max shook her head. “Then you understand why I’m worried.” This time she nodded. “I’m sorry,” Chloe added. “I didn’t mean to make tonight suck more for either of us.” Pain throbbed up her right arm at the unknowing grasp of Max’s hand on her right.  _Maybe neither of us is particularly okay._


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't expect to find any special recognition or proliferation for this fic. I do hope you enjoy, though.

 

Author's Note: First off: **Rob,**  I kept my promise. Enjoy.To everyone else, in the end I've spent a good bit of time questioning this chapter, ever since I outlined it in mid November. I think it could have been fun to indulge myself in a cutesy, fluffy chapter but I think this was truer to the story. Hopefully folks enjoy. As Max would say... 2/5. 

 

* * *

Chapter Nine

 

 _Day two._  The thought was almost instant when she opened her eyes, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her anxiety higher than it had been for months.  _Two of five_ , she corrected herself, turning her head. Some time in the night, Chloe had turned over and thrown an arm across her midriff, and Max jolting awake had not gone unnoticed. Almost immediately, Chloe’s arm almost tightened across her, as if trying to pull her close. It was half tempting to give in and scoot closer, to steal however long waited before the alarm went off for the sake of being in Chloe’s arms. Instead she gathered all her will and with care dislodged herself. By the time she had gotten free of Chloe’s grip and hunted down clothing that was particularly suited for a hot day, the woman had unknowingly replaced Max with her pillow.

 

Out of bed and away from both Chloe’s warmth and the peace of sleep (relative at least to her waking life) Max began to feel rather sluggish. The alarm was something like an hour off, but Max’s entire plan for the day was synced to it going off.  _Just get a head start,_ she counseled herself after standing for several seconds near the door of the room, lost.  _Shower, pack your bag, make breakfast._ This was all reasonable, but the thoughts came as if traveling through molasses, slowly and one after another, so that she had trouble connecting it to the reality around her.

 

A warm shower did manage to wake her up, get her thoughts running again, though not as wildly as when she first opened her eyes. She did feel the anxiety resurge to a degree as she climbed from the shower and began to dry off. It was  _not_ a normal morning, where her worries were about taking portraits or chasing down potential jobs at weddings or parties. Instead her mind was split between Rachel’s threats and her general schedule for the morning: breakfast _, pack the bag, go downstairs, pretend to work, see Chloe off, find the address, catch the 9:15 bus. Don’t fuck up._

 

She dressed repeating this list like a mantra and then walked into the living room. What she wanted to do was start breakfast early, do something special. Instead, she stood at the edge of the living room staring into the kitchen, absolutely no urge to cook rising. After a few minutes, she brought the cheap, two slot toaster from the back of the counter to the front and sat a loaf of bread and tub of butter beside it.  _I’ll make it up to her tonight,_ Max promised herself. T _his morning I don’t feel like doing anything but a couple of eggs._

 

With most of what was necessary to cook later ready, she passed back into the living room and glanced once, uselessly at the television before bypassing it entirely. It took some care to retrieve items around the house in silence, but eventually, instead of watching television, Max packed her bag up. First, the usual, her cheapest digital camera and her laptop. Next, she slid a bottle full of tap water into the side pocket and finally, with care, Max retrieved a can of mace from the hall closet, one her father had given to her on the day they left Seattle. Bag firmly packed, Max placed it down beside the door, not having any true concerns about hiding the contents. None of it was all too out of the ordinary for Max to be bringing downstairs with her anyway, especially with Rachel threatening her and Chloe both.  
  
With all of her morning routine save for cooking breakfast behind her, Max found herself perched on the edge of the bed with nothing to do but watch the fallout from the alarm going off. Chloe did not wake gracefully, she never did.  _I don’t think I’m any better,_ Max told herself, trying to feel amusement as Chloe groaned and flailed ineffectually at the alarm clock. No amusement came, instead her stomach simply dropped out as she realized that here, waking, was the woman she loved, whose life was in danger and  _she,_ Max, was not even telling her that last point.  _I won’t let anything happen to you. Not before, not again. Don’t ask me to get the syringe._

 

“Hey, are you just sitting there laughing at me?” Chloe asked as she sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “That’s not very nice, getting the head start on me like that.”

 

“Yeah,” Max agreed placatingly. She tried to offer Chloe a grin, but it did not matter. Sleep clouded the cook’s head and eyes in equal measure. Chloe noticed nothing odd about her behavior. “Alright,” Max started. “I’ve already been in the shower.” For a moment Chloe looked like she was going to nod off sitting up, so Max reached across and shook her lightly. Chloe raised an arm as if in defense.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” she grumped. “Shower, right, yeah.” Still, Chloe did not start moving, so Max reached past her. In the process, the two drew close. This apparently tripped a switch in Chloe’s head, and she leaned forward, as if to share a brief kiss with her girlfriend. Instead, Max pressed a button on the side of the alarm clock. A radio station, bogged down by static, began to blare from the small speakers.

 

Max left Chloe to deal with shutting off the radio, cursing, before Semisonic’s ‘Closing Time’ drove her to a proper rage. Either way, Chloe was not going to be late that day, even if she was not going to necessarily start the day happy with Max. It took Chloe long enough to turn off the radio and shower that Max was halfway through her own breakfast when Chloe sat down to eat hers, which was probably just barely warm enough to be passing.

 

If there was any ill will for her antics, none of it showed. In fact, for how the night before ended, Chloe was actually in a fairly good, chatty mood. Max did her best to hold her own in the conversation but by the time the pair of them were walking downstairs, dressed and ready for the day, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you what they had spoken of over eggs and toast. She was trying to snap out of that daze even as she opened the door the studio and let Chloe in past her.

 

“So,” Chloe started, “What’s the day look like?” Max was certain at least, that this was the first time all morning that Chloe asked something of her that would require her to outright lie. It genuinely felt gross to Max, but she could see a moment ahead when it might not, especially considering her reasons for keeping quiet.  _That’s how it started last time. That’s how she told you to fuck off at that bar. That’s how you thought you lost her._

 

“Well, I’m gonna hope for a  _lot_ of walk-ins because work has been kind of dry for a couple days,” Max passed Chloe and made her way to her desk, hearing the woman fall in line behind her. “I need to hassle the printers and send off a new set.” She shrugged as she sat down and watched Chloe pull the chair opposite of her around and sat backwards in it.  _Look, it could be worse,_ Max told herself,  _she could do the weird ass William Riker thing with chairs. Well, I mean she’s not_ quite  _tall enough, thank God._ “I dunno,” she finally added as Chloe looked up from checking the time on her phone. “I guess it’ll be a quiet day.”

 

“Yeah? Lucky you,” Chloe grinned as Max dug her laptop out of the bag between her knees, trying not to give away the sight of the can of mace. “Judy’s gonna work me to the bone today.” Max nodded and looked up from her screen as it began to boot up. “Not that it’s anything compared to the Eatery at Hotel Du’shbag.”

 

“At least you have a couple customers you like, at the diner, right?” Chloe grimaced. “Oh shit, you’re on the grill today, aren’t you?” The woman nodded and Max shook her head. “Sorry, honey.” Max still wasn’t used to this pet name thing, it was easier to call Chloe ‘Chloe’ or, on one memorable occasion, ‘Punk Queen of Oregon.’ Whatever the case, it seemed to cause her to smile this time and Max was grateful for that. She flexed a hand as if in argument with herself and then reached across the table to grab the cook’s left hand, still aware of and concerned about how she was favoring it over the right the night before. “You know I love you, right?”

 

“Absolutely,” Chloe replied, rising to her feet and shouldering her own bag. “I love you too.” After all of this time, after all they had been through Max would have doubted the words from anyone else. Instead, they lit a fire inside her and the cool discomfort with having to lie to Chloe melted away. It did little to bolster her against the greater fears around her, like Rachel Amber and what her plans for Chloe might be, but that was to be expected. Nothing but Rachel in handcuffs, photographed and splayed across the front page of a paper could do that and only then if Max could catch her making a move against Chloe or Max herself. “It’s time to rock ‘n roll,” Chloe added, pulling Max back to the moment, back to everything she had to keep in mind and everything that needed doing. It was enough that she didn’t even scold the woman for the cheesy parting line. Instead, she stayed in her seat and watched Chloe go.

 

“Be safe,” Max called after her retreating form. As soon as Chloe was a retreating form in the distance, the photographer dug out her phone and set an alarm for twenty minutes in the future. To her credit (at least in her own mind) Max did try to do some work. Sending an email to the printers asking why her prints were late took only a couple of minutes in and of itself and any pretense of doing any other actual work went out of the window the moment she realized that she had been staring blankly at a photo she was supposed to be reviewing for quality for the better part of five minutes and focusing on the churning in her stomach instead.  _Write down the address. Don’t forget your bag. Catch the bus. Take a photo of the hotel. Look for places you can watch from nearby. Come home. Pretend nothing happened._  
  
The list progressed until Max had coached herself on everything that she could think to do for the next three or four days and then found herself sitting in wait with a growing sense of dread that not even the memory of Chloe’s smile could fight off.  _Camera. Mace. Water,_ she began to repeat as she stared at the phone in front of her in equal parts anticipation and discontent. Eventually she got it together enough to google the address to the hotel and scribble it down on her left hand.  _Sometimes the old ways are the easiest, after all._

 

When the studio front echoed with a series of digital, high pitched beeps, she shut the laptop and stood, hefting her bag. The lights went off and the door shut behind her. She hesitated with her key at the lock and glanced about in paranoia, half expecting to see a panicked Chloe rushing back toward the apartment, having forgotten something. There was no one. Quite literally, no one was visible for a block or two. Even tucked into a less than glamorous corner of the city, it was rare to see  _no one,_ rare enough at least for her to be slightly paranoid as she started toward the nearest bus stop.  _She said five days. This is only the second. If Rachel’s going to hurt either of you, it’s more likely to be you, but it’s not like she’s going to jump you now. This is where Chloe’s going to be on day five. You need to be near her._

 

Max stood on the bust, crowded close on all sides by strangers and feeling slightly ripped off at the price of fare. Elbows jostled her, threatening to dislodge whatever tenuous control she still had. At this point, Max felt like she was  _reduced_ to lists and numbers, what to do and how long she had to do it and, to make matters worse, nowhere in that mental droning did she have plans for how to  _actually catch_ Rachel in the act of something illegal.  _If it comes down to it,_ Max thought as she pushed her way off of the bus.  _I’ll do it. I’ll actually do it. I’ll rewind. Not even the great Rachel Amber can beat that._ It was disconcerting to even consider but there it was, the all powerful answer to the Rachel Amber problem. If she made a move, Max would instantly rewind and reveal Rachel for all her  _bullshit,_ to Chloe, to the police, to the world. After all, it had worked to save David Madsen from Mark Jefferson, in the end.

 

Max felt like she might have had a tighter grip on the bag strap in her hand than on her nerves, but according to the map she had pulled up on her phone she had to be within three or four blocks of the hotel. The sidewalk was packed with people heading to and fro and the streets were  _madness._ Max couldn’t imagine driving on them. Keeping her head on a swivel while also keeping an eye on the map on her suddenly small and dark phone screen was challenging but Max couldn’t help but expect to see Rachel around every corner, in every window and in every passing face.  _If_ she was following Max, she wasn’t making herself known as she had at the grocery store.

 

Max was a block away according to the map when, as she turned her head in another fit of paranoia, her eyes landed on something familiar, something so iconic that she stopped in her tracks. Just barely visible on the wall of an alley to her left was the logo of the Two Whales Diner, which she last saw as a shattered sign lying next to the fiery remains of the restaurant that Chloe’s mother, Max’s friend Warren, Frank Bowers and his dog all perished in. She grasped hard for the strap on her shoulder, but her hands began to shake instantly. The transformation was complete before the sight was fully registered or understood, but this graffiti could have only come from one person. Max put her phone away and turned down the alley.

 

The moment was like reading a book or watching a film, thinking that you’ve got the thread of everything happening, that the author could not possibly slide in any kind of twist that you had not predicted as at least a possibility. Max prized books like that, the ones she could love enough to analyze to death, to understand so completely. On more than one occasion, though, she had experienced the jarring reality of finding a twist she would never expect waiting at the climax of a story. Something that seemed unnatural or unfitting and usually ultimately delightful once the surprise wore off.  _This_ was not delightful. This was just  _wrong._

 

All thought of her mission, her purpose for being out and going to the hotel washed immediately from her mind when she realized that the one familiar-looking piece of graffiti was not the extent of the artwork spread across this wall. Whether in some form of marker or spray paint, the majority of this pale, yellowed stone wall was covered in black and red, text and imagery stretching from one end to the other in a cacophony of discord. She blinked, momentarily unable to focus in on anything in front of her for the sheer amount of information. The bag across her shoulder began to slip, so she let it more carefully to the ground and backed up against the opposite wall, a lump rising in her throat and her stomach dropping.

 

There was no doubt: spread across the wall was a damn work of art, one created (or in this case, perpetrated) by Chloe herself. Max could not recall ever seeing Chloe get her hands on or carry about any spray paint, anything that might explain this.  _She's never mentioned any of this,_ Max thought, trying to understand feelings of betrayal and discomfort the likes of which even Rachel Amber had not yet managed to inspire in her since her Lazarus act. Phrases on the face of the wall began to jump out at her, quotes, she supposed, from people in Chloe's life.

 

 **"Maybe I miss my daughter."** sat beneath the image of the Two Whales Diner's logo.  **"You're breaking your mother's heart!"** had no associated image, but the words 'Step-Douche' cut through the word ‘mother’s’ at almost a perfect 45 degree angle.  **"I think you're the only one in the world I can trust."** was written in sharpie down the side of a large theater mask.  **"Light up and stop giving a fuck."** was scrawled predictably along the length of a joint. More and more quotes jumped out, most associated with an image, though not all of them.

 

 **"Y** **ou're Safe With me, Safe as any Soul can be."** ****

**"No More Lies, I Promise."**

**"I Love you."**

**"Just be Okay."**

**"You are all That Matters."**

**"I'll Always Be With You."**

 

 **"I Couldn't Find Her."** This last one was curved upward over top a stylized depiction of a hypodermic needle, and beneath the needle in a more wild hand, Chloe had written  **"Continue in thy Service to my Schemes."** This seemed to hold some idea of importance, at least Max would have to guess given the way several other lines or pictures seemed to be turned around it, as if moons in orbit of a planet. She didn't want to read too far into it, but there was still a small gap about Chloe's life during her absence that she did not know too much about. Was this about hard drug use in response to Rachel's apparent disappearance?  _I would have noticed. I would have seen it when I met her again._

 

 

Interspersed among these quotes were phrases that bore no semblance of sense to Max, who was confused and overwhelmed enough without trying to discern the meaning of such gems as the oddly familiar, 'What's past is prologue.' Often a small (or not so small) image accompanied them, such as the sketch of a blank polaroid beside just that phrase or the image of an upturned trash bin visibly, almost comically resting on the words, "Is there balm in Gilead?" Imagery and references to piracy and warfare (toward the top, a broken crown was drawn beneath the name 'Cinncinatus') ran its way in a sort of crescent along the far end of the wall, while technology and nature seemed to clash on the opposite end. In the center of all of this, the crowning glory of this artwork that was Chloe's secret, was the unnecessarily detailed image of a doe collapsed on its side as a raven, perched on its front shoulder, tore unseeing eyes from its head.

 

Max would call upon this moment, this memory in time to come as an example of willpower because somehow, she stayed standing. Somehow, came neither shaking nor tears. Somehow, she did not hate herself for pulling the old polaroid camera from her bag, even if she was not sure how it got there, in place of the digital camera she remembered digging out that morning. Somehow, she did not fuck up taking a photo of the centerpiece of this wall and somehow, when it was done, she walked from the alley and continued to the hotel Chloe was going to be working at on the day that Rachel Amber was threatening to end their relationship, once and for all.

 

**We talk about this if we get out of this. I analyze this if we get out of this. I do something about this if we get out of this.**

 

Steady, even breathing helped her keep her cool and kept her from digging into her bag to retrieve either the aberration that was that damn camera back from the grave or the photo she had just taken with it. Max was just in control enough to remember to take photos of the area around the hotel, posing as a tourist to any passersby. The majority of the trip home and the rest of her work day were something of a haze. She was  _fairly_ certain she hadn’t said anything too rude or outlandish to either of the walk-ins that she was able to take that afternoon nor anyone who called on the phone. Though, she had to admit, as she was writing down future appointments in her log book, she was relieved to see most of them were about a week out, meaning there were less disappointed people if she had to be a little more absent than she already planned to.

 

 _One of them was disappointed you couldn’t fit them in tomorrow,_ she reminded herself as Chloe passed the studio front later, waving. The moment she saw the woman there was little use pretending she was going to be able to keep working. She waited until Chloe had had time to climb the staircase up to the apartment and then closed up the shop after putting the more expensive equipment where it belonged. There was no pretending. Business was going to be bad for the next few days, so that she could do what she needed to to make sure they two of them were going to come out of this alright.

 

 _What if,_ she wondered, climbing the stairs,  _what if this isn’t who Rachel really is? What if this is what Nathan Prescott made her? What if this is what_ Jefferson  _made her? Do I really think Chloe fell in love with a fucking psychopath? Could I talk to her? If I’m not scared shitless, could I talk to her?_ This was the first time Max had actually considered the idea and in the end it felt oddly like a cop out. Wherever her apparent willingness to injure or kill came from, it was no longer being directed at Max alone. The threat against Chloe changed  _all_ of that.  _No, fuck that. If I have to choose between her or Chloe, why should she be any different than Arcadia Bay. I make this choice. I choose Chloe._

 

Max opened the door to the sound of the television up a little too loud as Chloe seemed to pace the living room. The other woman stopped in her tracks, framed by the entrance way Max was looking through as if a portrait. Max put her bag down, took the time to kick off her shoes and then crossed into the living room to embrace her, all the while trying to silence a hundred questions and confessions. She wasn’t  _entirely_ sure what had Chloe upset though she was pretty certain now that she knew each possibility. All the same, she hoped that the hug could transmit emotions she was having trouble calling up, trouble feeling but which she knew were still in there somewhere.

 

“Food,” she finally said, “you need dinner.” Chloe shook her head, smiling but did not otherwise object when Max broke free of the embrace and left her in the living room. She was digging out a cutting board and lining up potatoes for quartering when Chloe came up behind her and quietly, almost timidly asked if she could help. Max wanted to be well enough to analyze that tone of her voice but she just wasn’t. Instead, she asked Chloe to handle chopping while she started the chicken baking. After a few attempts, Chloe managed to make her realize that they were supposed to be talking. Max tried her best to answer Chloe’s questions or respond to her talking about her day but there was just a sort of numbness where things like emotion, logic or common sense should be as she tried to figure out how to broach a subject.

 

“Max,” Chloe finally said, several minutes later as she shut the door to the oven. “I’m getting worried about you. You need to say  _something._ Say  _anything._ ” Nothing better came to mind, so Max turned on the spot, dropped the spoon she was holding back into the soapy water filler the sink and just came out with what was on her mind, at least, the thing on her mind that she knew she could bring up without setting  _everything on fire._

 

“Let’s blow off work tomorrow. Both of us. Let’s go to Venice Beach.”

 

“What?” Chloe asked, clearly having expected just about anything but this. “I’m- what?”

 

“Seriously,” Max tried to put earnest interest and care in her voice and found that it sounded a little less hollow in her ears this time. “Come on, Chloe. How fuckin’ crazy is it that we’ve been here this long and  _never gone to the beach._ ” She tilted her head, and tried to deliver what she could imagine as a final blow to her argument. “Besides, we should know where to take mom and dad when they get here.”  _It didn’t work. Try harder. Try anything. She needs this._ Max grinned, approaching Chloe who did not react in time to avoid the swipe of a finger that deposited a small pile of suds on the tip of her nose. “Well? Come on, we can go to the beach, walk down to the board walk, get dinner and watch all the tourists turning lobster red.”

 

“If you hold the last part, maybe,” Chloe replied, sounding both disconcerted and dubious as she swiped the pale mass of suds from her face. “I just don’t know where this is coming from?”

 

“It’s coming from  _fuck this,_ ” Max replied, honestly and suddenly. “Fuck  _all_ of this. Fuck Calvin, fuck  _her,_ fuck stress headaches and fuck weekends where we’re not doing  _something_ fun to help us keep our heads on straight.” Chloe opened her mouth, a look crossing her face that warned Max she was about to say something smartass and predictable.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I ‘can’t do anything straight,’ I know.” Chloe shut her mouth, but at least now the look of incredulity was replaced by a grin muting whatever other jokes had been brewing in her mind. “I promise, we can get away with it. Things are tight and all but it’s not  _that_ bad and yeah it might take us a bit to get anywhere where we can actually  _drive_ but once we do it’s not far off. I’ve always wanted to go.” Finally Chloe nodded and Max stepped back from her, surprised by how close the two suddenly seemed to be.  _I can’t think about that kind of thing right now._

 

“Alright,” Chloe said as she crossed to the fridge to grab something to drink, “I’ll call Judy first thing in the morning and tell her I’m sick.” Max nodded. “Think your boss will let  _you_ off?”

 

“I dunno,” Max replied, grimly as she turned back toward the sink. “I’ve heard she’s a  _real_ bitch.”

 

* * *

 

 

“This is nice,” Max said, her head turning slightly to take in the sights around her. Men, women, children, dogs, people ostensible from every walk of life passed them as they shuffled along the sidewalk along the edge of the beach. Buskers lined every inch of it. A short ways ahead a woman with short, buzz-cut hair emerged from one stand with a fresh looking henna tattoo down her face. “I could go for one bigger than that,” Max teased Chloe. “Wouldn’t you love being seen around town with me?”

 

“Oh yeah?” Chloe replied, swinging her arm and by extension Max’s lightly. “Put your money where your mouth is, get a  _real_ face tat. I’ll even design it for you.” Max rolled her eyes at having her fun lost, but some echo of a smile took to her face, which was  _awfully relieving._ They were still shaking off the edges of an awkward, tense silence from the truck ride over, which only came about as a result of Max asking why the roads of  _Seattle_ were so busy, during their escape from the city. The photographer played it off as a slip of the tongue but Chloe was nowhere near so convinced.

 

 _Forget it, for now,_ Chloe tightened her grip on Max’s hand, drawing her closer as they examined artwork, henna stands, people selling water, cookies, brownies.  _Fuck it, they’re probably not the good shit anyway,_ Chloe told herself as she apologetically turned down an offer of a sample. Eventually, not even the cavalcade of individuals passing them by could be interesting enough to keep them from the edge of the bright, sandy beach that drew them there to begin with. Max released her hand as they turned off the sidewalk but drew close enough that if she wanted they could have walked arm-in-arm.

 

The sun bore down on her shoulders, more viciously than expected as Chloe separated from Max’s side for a moment to draw ahead of her. She did her best not to look back, not to turn a worried gaze at Max, neither for the morning’s strangeness or just her general behavior as of late. Determined to enjoy the moment, Chloe hurried the few remaining steps to the ocean, kicking the cheap plastic-thronged sandals to the side just before the obvious tide-line in the sand. Her toes dug into warm, wet and despite the sun baring down directly on her and generally feeling warmer than expected, she she drew a deep breath of the salty air, eyes shutting.

 

 _I don’t care what anyone says. Arcadia Bay was never like this. Not one inch of beach, not during any holidays, not summer, not winter. Nothing like this._ A noise that probably should not have made her jump drew her from her reverie. It was familiar, being around Max, it was usually comforitng: it was the closing of a shutter. She turned on the spot, both amused and bemused. Max had dropped to a knee in the sand and, looking up at her through the viewfinder of her expensive digital camera, taking photos (including one, it seems, of her surprise.)

 

“What’s all this?” she asked, gesturing. “You never take that thing  _anywhere._ ”

 

“I want to remember today.” Max replied, as if that was all it took. “If I lose everything else, I want to be able to remember today.” Chloe tried to ignore her stomach dropping out.  _Of course, she’s worried about her memory._  Personally, she thought to herself that she ought to be touched but it just concerned her. Apparently seeing this shift in her mood, Max stood up and hurried over to her. “Want to be really fucking lame for me? Just once?” Chloe pulled a face.

 

“Is it, ‘selfie time?’” she asked, with exaggerated disdain. Max didn’t especially smile but she did nod as she drew beside Chloe and wrapped an arm around her. Chloe waited as Max did her best to line up the shot one-armed, trying to be patient. Then, as the photographer grew still and apparently satisfied, she turned and placed a kiss on Max’s cheek in time with the snap. “Alright,” Chloe told her. “One selfie for Chloe is quite enough.”

 

“You know, for being part of the ‘selfie generation’ you’re no fun sometimes,” Max chided her, playfully. Even still, she opened the bag at her side, exposing Chloe to an old can of mace and, more immediately useful, sunscreen.

 

“Oh thank fuck,” she said as Max slid her camera back into the bag. “Let’s go get covered in sunscreen and sand.” She stuck feet still lightly covered in wet sand back into her sandals. There was no use in trying to prevent it, after all. Max seemed to stall for a moment, and Chloe looked up to find the woman staring back at her with her mouth half open. “Ground control to Major Max, you alright?” The photographer shook her head and reached up to push a lock of hair behind her ear. “Max, are you alright?”  _Does she knew where she is?_ Chloe found herself wondering, worriedly.

 

“Yeah, all’s fine. Just lost in my own thoughts.” A couple of minutes and some coordination later, they were both lathered with sunscreen and Chloe could feel the sand sticking to the back and sides of her legs as she settled back into it. Neither of them had considered that maybe they would want a blanket to sit down on. That was fine, though, because somehow it felt  _nicer_ to be close by Max’s side in the warm sand. As long as she didn’t put her hands flat on it, it wasn’t even too terribly hot. She wormed an arm around the photographer’s shoulders once they were both settled back on the edge of the tide line. “You know you’re gonna burn no matter what, right?”

 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “The joys of being pale as death in LA. Hell, sometimes I burn if I take too long getting to the  _bus stop._ ” Max seemed to stiffen beside her for a moment but Chloe wrote it off as imagination as she felt the photographer lean into her. After a moment, Chloe admitted, “I don’t feel like swimming.”  _Even if we did go through the trouble buying swimsuits._ Max nodded against her. “You either, huh?” Another nod.

 

“Have you put in the college application yet?” the question was quiet, not meant to be intrusive but it still set Chloe slightly more on edge than she wanted to admit. “I’m taking the hesitation as a no.”

 

“No,” she said. “But I think I’ve made a decision.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I’m going to start going after all the core classes and shit, but this first time around I want to try out a few different intro classes.” Max nodded.

 

“Good,” she said and, strange enough, Chloe could hear genuine relief in her voice. She sounded actually  _happy_ for the first time in longer than Chloe could count. “That’s a great idea. What classes, Chloe?”

 

“You’re gonna laugh,” she cautioned. Max drew back slightly, drawing Chloe’s gaze from the ocean to her face.

 

“I’m not going to laugh at you trying to figure out what you want to do.”

 

“Oh,” she replied, feeling bemused again. “Alright. Well,” she tilted her head. “I want to try a creative writing class, maybe a theater class and I kind of want to look into a couple chemistry courses?” Max moved close to her again and Chloe relaxed, though she could not place precisely whens he tensed up. “What do you think?”

 

“I think that’s great. I think you should try that. I didn’t know you’d thought of acting, though. Is being in LA getting to you?” Chloe could almost  _feel_ Max grinning beside her.

 

“No,” she started, quietly. “Just something that happened a few years ago.” Max tilted her head up.

 

“You and Rachel?” Max asked, jarring Chloe. “The thing with The Tempest.” This line came in the tone of realization. Chloe only nodded. “Good,” Max finally said. “Do it. If it works for you then maybe that’s what you need to do.”

 

“Are you alright?” Chloe found herself asking for the fifth or six time.

 

“Yeah,” Max responded, finally parting from her and starting to stand. “But I think we should go.”

 

“Go where?” Chloe replied, leaning back slightly to look up at the photographer who was getting to her feet. One slim arm rose and Chloe follow the finger. In the distance she could see the shape of the boardwalk: stands and shops, a Ferris wheel, a crowded place full of people. This wasn’t usually Max’s kind of scene. “Getting hungry?”

 

“Yeah, and I wanna say I got there once.”

 

“Once?” Chloe asked, finally standing. “Max, there’s plenty of time.”

 

“Absolutely,” Max answered. “But maybe this is ours.” Chloe did not question her further. The conversation had already taken a turn that put her on edge. Her fingers and toes flexed under the onslaught of nervous energy that was starting to build up. Max lead the way along the beach, staying close to the dark, wet, cooler sand than the burning hot sand farther up. Chloe hung a step or two behind Max, wondering if just  _observing her_ would give away the secrets of what was going on in Max’s mind to make her behave so strangely.  _Everything’s strange, Chloe._

 

The distance between their spot on the beach and their destination was so long that the silence between them was almost unbearable by the time they got closer and closer and were forced toward the sidewalk to find an entrance that was more easily accessible. That being said, Chloe had not learned anything from several minutes of both contemplation and  _near panic_ over Max’s mental state that day, so she made sure to fall in step beside Max and try to stay close as the crowd grew thicker and thicker around them.  _Why the hell is a weekday this busy?_

 

“I’m kinda beat,” she confessed, though she felt bad saying it. “Maybe food is a good first stop?”

 

“Heck yeah,” Max replied, glancing back at her.  _She seems genuinely excited. Earlier she was talking like she was dying or something, this morning she forgot what city we lived in and she’s got someone threatening her life, and she looks excited to be on a crowded, smelly boardwalk._ “But then again,” Max said, slowly. Chloe matched her pace and eventually found what distracted her. Following her gaze, Chloe’s eyes landed on a truck out of which a middle-aged man who looked too hungover for words was selling soft-serve ice cream.

 

“Now that’s the second best idea you’ve had all week,” Chloe told her.  _That didn’t sound desperate or scared. Keep it together, Chloe._ She lead the photographer by the hand and secured them both a cone before either of them had an even  _vaguely_  responsible thought and decided they should pursue actual food instead. Together, trying not to lose their ice cream, they pushed through crowds of people who were talking animatedly to one another, adults and children, families and couples playing games or holding hands, laughing, dancing to music whose source Chloe could not quite figure out or, in one or two cases, making out in far too public an area. All in all it  _did_ remind her of a fairgrounds in a way.

 

 _In fact,_ she admitted as she turned out toward the ocean, leaning up against a rail a few feet away from a family who looked to the last to be the color of a boiled lobster,  _I kind of feel like when me and Max were running around Arcadia Bay as kids. We had so much fun at the fairgrounds. Shit was simpler back then. Pirate face-paint, gimmicky, overpriced eye-patches and sneaking ice cream or shitty, greasy fair food when our parents weren’t looking._ Another  _click_ of a shutter told Chloe all she needed to know about what Max was doing while she walked down memory lane, though she wasn’t  _entirely_ sure when she had agreed to hold the photographer’s cone.

 

“Now that one’s good,” Max said as she looked down at the small screen on the back of then camera. “What were you thinking about?”

 

“I was thinking about Arcadia Bay,” she replied. “About being happy, loud little shits at the fair.” Max nodded as she put away her camera and retrieved her cone.

 

“Those were good,” she admitted. “I miss those sometimes too.” Chloe turned away to look back out at the ocean. “It  _is_ beautiful,” Max continued. “Just, I’ve already taken the most beautiful picture I’m gonna take today. This has nothing on you.” Chloe smiled at the cheese but didn’t necessarily try to dissuade her from it.

 

“The board walk is cool. I’m glad you brought it up.” She turned and leaned back against the rail, looking in. Her left hand reached out and eventually found Max’s. Chloe did not want to let go.  _This is close enough to normal. This is what you’re supposed to do when you’re with someone you love._ “It’s actually probably the coolest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

 

“Beats the hell out of when we walked down the beach in Arcadia Bay and had to deal with the smell of those whales.” Chloe turned her head slightly in confusion before she realized what was happening. The realization struck Max a moment later.

 

“That never happened did it?” Chloe shook her head, no.

 

“Well, I mean, not for me.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Max said. “You’re right, my bad.” Somewhere, just a ways back up the board walk, several people cheered for something that seemed to delight them greatly. “Still,” Max continued, her tone now sour. “Beats the shit out of that.” 


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't expect to find any special recognition or proliferation for this fic. I do hope you enjoy, though.

 

Author’s Note: Hey all. If I’ve done my job right, you probably get the feeling that gears are shifting. Well, in this chapter, they’ve already shifted. For a few chapters now I’ve been trying to suggest that a change in the tone of the story and personality/behavior of our characters was coming. From the very START of this chapter, consider the shit to have firmly hit the fan on that front. In addition to a tonal shift and characters behaving in ways which might throw readers off (and this is very intentional, as well as ultimately true to their characterization, in my opinion) there are also a couple of content warnings I feel compelled to give out for the remainder of the story.

 

While it has been implied several times but never outright shown “on screen” the remainder of the story  **may contain discussion and depiction of sexual harassment**  (though, not sexual assault.) Likewise, this story like the original game, includes  **character death,**  and the execution and/or concepts/consideration of  **violence, both against one’s self and others**. It is my intent not to make any discussions or depictions of any of these potentially upsetting things very gratuitous or in excess, but it is necessary to both the plot and to stay true to the characters depicted within it, as their personalities were established across the games and as they’ve begun to develop throughout this story. To again warn: we start off firmly in the middle of the shit hitting the fan and things simply  _go_ from there. I hope that you’re able to enjoy, but understand if this is where some people part from the story. We’re at the summit, so strap in. Only one way to go, now.

  
\---------

Chapter Ten

  
  


Max’s leg continue to shake and her left hand continued to curl and uncurl as her right dragged the cursor across the screen to the Send button. The body of the e-mail looked right: it contained a link for the printers to use to download the necessary photos as well as what kind of set the customer was ordering. There were probably less niceties than usual, Max would grant them, but she was having difficulty as Day Four wound to a close. It was hard enough to get anything done when she had a customer in front of her, much less when she was left to her own devices. She found her fuse as short as her attention span, having definitely snapped at one customer before apologizing profusely. Stewing over what could be her last night with Chloe (if Rachel acted on her threats) was distracting, aggravating.

 

She was just staring at a stack of unopened mail left on the counter when, as if summoned by her concerns, the brunette in question opened the door to her shop and let herself in without so much as a ‘by your leave.’ Max sat up straight as she blinked, wondering if she was losing her mind after all. When she opened her eyes again, Rachel Amber was staring at her from just inside the door. Perhaps she wanted Max to see her turn the lock, as she had the night before. Perhaps she was just pausing for dramatic effect, either way, when Rachel reached behind her and spun the lock, Max pulled her phone out and sat it down on the desk in front of her, as much a threat as anything else. She shut her laptop.

 

What might be casually dressed for some, Rachel was clad in a band tee and nice, new looking jeans. Her hair was pulled back rather sleekly and, most oddly, she was wearing make up that looked fit for neither stage nor a punk show. She did, however, start to move as Max took her in. Subconsciously, Max licked her lips. Rachel didn’t make any pretense of looking around the studio and commenting on the décor. There was no witty jest about the day Rachel destroyed the studio, a day which Max still did not fully remember.

 

This time, Rachel stopped on the far side of the counter, leaning against it. She looked a little more formal than Max imagined her casual appearance, but then she mostly only had stories and a couple of photographs to go on. Realizing that Rachel was staring, waiting for her to speak, Max decided not to give her the satisfaction.  _Top drawer on the right,_ she reminded herself. Max shifted her hand and leaned back in the chair, trying to appear cocky and dismissive as she did so. Her right hand rested on the knob to the drawer and left remained near the phone.

 

“Get the fuck out,” Max said by way of greeting, trying to dismiss the woman. It was not like she had done anything illegal yet, anything that Max could point at as an excuse to detain her.  _But if you did, Chloe would know the truth. Assuming you can._ Her decision a couple of days ago to break her rule against time travel resurfaced and alongside this acknowledgment she felt herself loose a manic little chuckle that she could not completely explain. “Just get the fuck out, or I’ll call the cops. Wouldn’t want to ruin your little plan early, would we?”

 

Rachel leaned a little closer against the counter. The look she gave Max was the legitimate version of the one Max was trying to give her. On the photographer’s side of things, she was considering just what Rachel would have to do to make her draw the weapon hidden in her desk.  _It won’t be much. If she comes close to me this time, I have to do it. I’m not going to die here. Not to this bitch. Not now, not ever._ She could feel her left hand shaking and wondered if it was fear or rage which caused the tremors.  _Or is it something else?_

 

“If you do that, we both know that I’ll be gone before they get here. Do you think the police  _or_ Chloe are going to believe that a dead woman was standing in your studio? Because we both know you haven’t told her yet.” Max didn’t respond, but there was truth to the words. So much of what Rachel said rang out as fact, things that she should have considered.  _This woman’s been a step ahead since the day she trashed my studio._ “And it’s not like  _you’re_ going to be able to keep me here,  _Max Caulfield._ ”

 

“You don’t know what ‘Max Caulfield’ is capable of,” Max replied, leaning forward suddenly enough to open the drawer under her right hand just slightly. She did not reach for the weapon inside, did not even think of it. “You don’t know what I’ve done. You don’t know what I’ll do.”

 

“Keep that temper in check or else,” Rachel said, quickly. “Besides, you don’t know what ‘Rachel Amber’ is capable of.” The faux pleasant smile faded away like all the other pretenses, but it was replaced with that damn shark-like grin.  _Not entirely human,_ she thought, yet again. “And frankly, I know  _way_ more than you think I do. You’re not in control here, little girl.” Again, these words sounded like fact, like a law of nature.  _Why aren’t I scared? Oh, fuck,_ Max realized.  _I should be scared._ “You could spare everyone right now, Max.” Rachel’s tone changed. “Just leave, now. Just walk out of here and  _never_ look back. Because tomorrow, one way or another, this is over.”

 

“Screw that,” Max was on her feet before she knew it was happening. The drawer slid open under her right hand but she didn’t reach in. Instead she slammed both hands down on the desk. Rachel leaned back chuckling, her face incredulous. “We could do this now, you and I. Right here.”  _If we do this now, she can’t hurt Chloe, one way or the other. Not, like, physically._ “Let’s have this out, I’m tired of your pretentious, theater kid bullshit.”

 

“Pretentious?” Rachel responded in a voice that was supposed to be mocking, but was laced with a kind of deep, vicious rage. “You’re one to talk, Max Caulfield. Like you could actually win. Like you could do me any harm.” Rachel’s face changed very literally with her voice.  _You’re losing it, Max, hold it together!_ She was never so certain that her mind was going than when Rachel’s eyes turned from a hazel hell to a void of black, when her lips curled up and that shark-like smile actually revealed sharp teeth, when her skin seemed to turn mottled and gray. “I will take you  _all_ in the end. I will have  _everyone_ who stands in my way. You small, little thing.” Max blinked and shook her head, thrown off of her determination. When she opened her eyes, Rachel was back to normal, if not completely livid.

 

“Listen,” she said, trying a different tactic. Her heart hammered violently in her chest and her breath came loud as a storm in her ears. “I get it. Nathan hurt you and then left you to die. You climb out of that grave, run like hell and then everyone you know and love dies, except Chloe. Then, she just vanishes and comes to LA without you. With me, with nobody. I get it. I get that you’re pissed. I get that you’re hurt. Do you actually think this is how you win Chloe over? Do you think that you could be with her after-”

 

“Don’t condescend to me, you simple fuck.” Rachel cut across her last ditch effort to change the situation like a knife through butter. “I’m up here, you’re down there, you get it? Every way. You are in deep.” This time Rachel gathered herself to full height, straightening her shirt oddly. When she spoke again, her voice was calm. “How’s your memory been treating you, Max?”  _How the fuck?_ Max stayed where she was standing, unwilling to move at all.  _How does she know? Is she bugging us? Was she on the boardwalk? Holy shit, was she right there on the boardwalk the whole time?_ “You’re losing it, Max. Do  _you_ really want to put Chloe through that, anyway?”  _She’s back to trying to convince me._ Max reached out and instead of grabbing for the gun she could see if she would just look  _down,_ picked up her phone. She had already dialed a digit when Rachel struck, not physically but with words that were truth as was her way.

 

“Don’t bullshit me. You don’t want to do that. Chloe won’t believe you and you’ll just be locked away.” Max looked down at the phone and sat it down on the table, unable to argue with her. Whether it started out as a bluff or not, she was aware now that it was. “Don’t try to bluff with me. I’ve seen every kind of bluster there ever was. You’re full of shit, Max. Face it.” Rachel exhaled and Max found herself staring, almost worried that the tan, freckle-faced woman would turn again into some sort of literal monster. “I mean, honestly. I can and  _will_ hurt you in ways you haven’t even dreamed of yet. You took from me. I can take from you a thousandfold. I  _will_ take from you a thousandfold. Give me what is mine or I will do that. I will ruin  _everyone you love._ ”

 

Rachel didn’t seem to wait for a response. It was as if they were playing some game of chess and Max, who had been unable to see the board, had just been mated and left to figure out the move by which Rachel was going to beat her on her own. The woman spun on the spot, marched smartly to the front door and let herself out without a further word. There was no humor, no taunting left to do. Max had the feeling that the next time she saw Rachel Amber, someone was going to die.  _It just won’t be Chloe,_ Max decided. She reached not for her cellphone but the landline in front of her and accessed her voicemail. It took longer than she wanted to hear and respond to the commands listed on the menu.

 

“Hi, this is Max Caulfield of Arcadia Studios. I’m sorry to say that due to a family emergency I’ve had to close until Saturday morning. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”  _One way or another, it all ends tomorrow._ Max hung up the phone and pushed the chair behind her away. It skidded against the ground for a moment before tipping and falling on its side with a loud crash. As she stuffed the gun retrieved from her desk in the waistband of her jeans and packed her bag, a further realization brushed against her, insistent anymore.  _I’m not scared,_ she thought.  _I’m fucking_ pissed. She kept that fire in tact as she secured equipment and locked up the shop.

 

Standing outside of it she had to suppress the desire to scream, to yell in rage, to hurl obscenities down the street, into the sky. Rachel was no longer around to be the target of her anger but the woman had brought it out of her in bulk.  _I need to stay calm. I need to get my head on straight. Tomorrow’s a big day. I need to think. I need to plan. I need to imagine just how many ways I’m going to kick that bitch in her teeth if she puts a hand on Chloe._ There was, mercifully, not yet a Chloe around to see that everything she did next, from climbing the stairs to throwing open (and then closed) the apartment door seemed to be an act of rage.

 

Max didn’t bother to drop her bag or strip off her shoes and socks despite feeling  _hot_ head to toe. She turned first into the kitchen and then through to the living room and back to the hallway. In just a few seconds Max had reached their bedroom where she rather unceremoniously pulled Chloe’s top drawer open. Stashing the gun among the woman’s unmentionables where it belonged, she further fished out their rapidly dwindling stash and a lighter. Her hands were still shaking a bit too harshly when she unplugged Chloe’s old CD player and carried it from the room. Max stopped only briefly in the hallway to pull a towel out of the hall closet and head into the bathroom.

 

She slammed the door shut, shoved that towel and the one already hanging in the room up to the crack between the door and floor. With just enough care not to break the machine, Max got one of Chloe’s CDs, (some nu metal band who she had heard but never bothered to learn the name of) playing loud enough to be heard from the studio if anyone were able to get inside. It hurt her ears and made her head ache from the minute she pressed play. However, the loud, almost discordant music, the sound of the vocalist reaching and maintaining loud notes as he came to some culminating point in a verse, it all  _felt_ like she felt. It was good. It did not calm her anger, it  _resonated_ with it.

 

Max slammed the lid to the toilet shut and sat down as she lit up a blunt. She was not sure if the way her body reacted, moved to the music was right. If there was a thing such as a right way, she did not  _care._ Still warm, she knew that getting cooler was the only chance she had to relax. A saner version of her would have gone into the living room and turned the air conditioner on. Instead, her shoes, socks and shirt lay crumpled in the bottom of the tub. Pulling deeply on the joint between her thumb and pointer, Max held her breath as her head began to move in time with the music. It was fast, it was violent, it was unpleasant. It was everything she felt. Strangely, once the lyrics were able to fade into the music, no longer distracting her, she felt oddly focused on the issues facing her.

 

**That fucking alleyway. The doe. I told her about the doe over and over again. She thought it was cool. She always did. And all that other shit? Past is prologue. Past is prologue. Fucking Shakespeare, you couldn’t** _**imagine** _ **. I can. I know. And ‘I couldn’t find her?’ that was Rachel’s mother. I know and she doesn’t. I know she’s alive. I could use that, couldn’t I? If it means saving Chloe’s life I damn sure could. Having her pissed at me from here until the heat death of the universe is way better than letting Rachel hurt her just because of me.**

 

Rachel Amber seemed like such a petty thing when laid out against the heartbeat pounding in her ears, against all of the rage churning in her gut, against the motion the music seemed to imbue in her body. It was not an issue for her to find a place, wait in hiding and when Rachel showed herself,  _slam_ her into the ground, put all her weight into the woman’s back and yell until someone brought the police, until someone brought Chloe. As she sat and she raged and she schemed, Max could imagine the moment when, snarling, she would reach down, wrapping her hand in Rachel’s hair, and pull her head up, exposing her face to Chloe, saying, ‘See? It was no night terror. I wasn’t sleep walking. This bitch did  _all_ of it and then she was stupid enough to threaten you.’ No thought was given until much later of how much this might hurt Chloe.

 

No, in that bathroom as it became harder and harder to see her reflection in the mirror through the haze both inside and out of her mind, Max’s passions were revenge and exposure. Revenge for weeks of torture, for every time Rachel or her mere mention ruined a day, a conversation, a second of Max’s good mood. Exposure that Rachel was alive and well and vicious and a plotting psychopath who would kill who she loved rather than see her happy with another and more than that, that she had lost and Max had won.  _She doesn’t love her. This is possession. This is obsession._ Max’s hand slammed into the wall dangerously close to the mirror.  _You don’t get this. You don’t win._

 

**If I can I want Chloe to see her before the police. I want her to see with her own eyes so that she doesn’t think I’m lying. I can explain** _**everything** _ **if she just sees Rachel herself. Once she does, it’s all over, all out in the open. I’m going to make Rachel wish she’d stayed in whatever hole she was hiding in. I’m going to do it because I have to. After that, if Chloe can’t forgive something I did, then fine. At least Rachel will be in jail and Chloe will be alive. If she tells me to fuck off, then I’ll just have to fuck off.**

 

The edge of her rage was dull and receding when Max blinked and found herself somewhere other than where she expected to be. Max looked about. This wasn’t the bathroom hazy with smoke, it was her closet. The blunt was clenched too tightly between her lips, and she was shifting through clothing.  _Fucking autopilot,_ she thought. After a moment of looking about the closet she could only assume some part of her had driven her there in search of a new shirt. From the bathroom, the vocalist was telling an unnamed ‘motherfucker’ to die, repeatedly and emphatically. Max was fairly certain she had already heard the song.  _How long was I just standing here?_

 

Max laughed nervously at herself, still feeling very on edge. Reaching in, she stole one of Chloe’s shirts and though it was a little long on her pulled the blunt from her mouth long enough to slip it on. She turned to return to the bathroom when something caught her eye.  _The fuck did I do?_ Max was getting tired of pretending that things weren’t happening that was clearly her doing, but which she could not remember. On the far side of the bed, Chloe’s bedside table was in disarray. She crossed to it, taking a long hit despite being fairly certain she had  _never_ been this high in her life, and set things relatively in order. Still, as Max stared at the crate-turned-table, something looked off about it.

 

She was pulled from her reverie by the sound of Chloe coming home early from the diner. Even with the music blaring, Chloe’s voice was just clear enough to summon Max.  _I’m gonna make the best of tonight,_ she thought with sudden clarity. She paused on her way from the room just in front of a mirror. There was no making herself look  _nice,_ in this short of time, but tonight, Max would settle for looking fuckable. The grin her reflection shot at her felt right for that. Firmly baked and no longer enraged so much as sure of what was to come, Max stalked from the room, slammed the bathroom door shut to try to drown the suddenly too-loud music out and hurried to Chloe.

 

_If this is my last night, better make it count. If it’s not, then I’m gonna celebrate putting Rachel’s ass in its place prematurely._

 

_\----_

 

 _So,_ Chloe flipped the eggs without care for a broken yolk.  _Let’s take stock. Two days ago, she says, ‘let’s go to the beach.’_ The toast popped unceremoniously, and she dropped the spatula to quickly pull both pieces free and drop them on Max’s plate.  _Then, the next night after we’ve gone and she’s gone through about nine million mood swings_ _you_ _wake up and find her in the living room crying her eyes out about some nightmare she can’t even remember having._ Chloe glanced back at the woman in question and beckoned her toward the toast and tub of Can’t Believe It’s Not beside it.  _Then last night she’s baked beyond all belief and practically jumps you when you get in the door,_ Chloe turned back to the pain, raising an eyebrow to herself.  _Then again this morning, and now…._ She glanced at Max, who was buttering her toast with this crooked little grin on her face. It was probably supposed to speak of mischief and plotting but instead it just seemed  _incorrect._ “Incoming,” Chloe called. Max moved away and let her deposit a couple of eggs on the plate.

 

While Chloe broke two more, the still grinning woman placed a kiss on her cheek and picked up her plate as if to move it to the table, before putting it back down and retrieving a fork. As Chloe cooked, Max simply began to eat there at the counter.  _Is she trying to stay close? I mean, who am I to complain? Last night was weird, and all, but damn that was… good._ It wasn’t exactly  _rare_ for Max to be in the mood, but that was definitely Max in a rare form. Again, though, Chloe was reminded about gift horses and mouths.

 

“What are you smiling about?” she finally asked, trying to ignore the echoes of her mother in her exasperated tone.

 

“You,” Max replied, simply between bites. If anything the smile became harder to hide.

 

“Yeah?” Chloe replied, flipping her own eggs. “What about me?”

 

“Everything,” Max answered, again intent on being unhelpful, but adding to the moment by bumping Chloe’s hip with her own. “All of you.” Chloe shook her head and felt a bit relieved despite herself.  _Yeah, there’s no way this is all normal, but fuck it, life is st-_ she interrupted herself.  _No, Chloe, that’s too cheesy._ Eventually, instead of finding herself at the table across from her girlfriend, Chloe was leaning up against the counter, too as she ate. Whatever was going on, the exceptional closeness to Max did not make her feel guilty. If anything, she was going to need it to keep her going. Only a few hours separated her and a shift at the hotel, dodging Calvin, taking her breaks in the back of the kitchen and trying desperately not to feel resentment against the entire staff because she was still there.  _I still wish I understood it. Last night she was so talkative, about books she wanted to read, movies she wanted to see, pictures she wanted to take. Now it’s like she knows something I don’t._

 

Chloe stopped with a fork halfway to her mouth and lowered it to her plate. Max paused as well as Chloe sat the plate down and turned to look at her. For just a moment, she seriously considered how much damage, if any, it would do to Max’s mood to ask the question that had just occurred to her.  _Is she rewinding time? Is that what’s going on? Is that why she’s kind of acting like the Max that came back to Arcadia Bay?_ She finally decided not to ask after all, shaking her head and reaching for her plate when, with seriousness that seemed more normal for her, Max spoke.

 

“Everything’s going to be alright, Chloe.”  _I could swear she’s rewinding. If I ask it’s just going to piss her off._ “Trust me, I know it.” Chloe shook her head and took a bite. There was plenty she could say to that, including how her trust only went so far at that point. If that thought wasn’t a wake up call, nothing else would be.  _Tonight I’ll try again. If I can convince her to go see someone, maybe we can actually start talking again._ Chloe cleared her plate first, perhaps because she was suddenly not feeling very talkative or perhaps because she was just getting  _nervous_  about everything.  _It just keeps getting worse. She just keeps getting worse._

 

Even after Max said goodbye and headed down to the studio, bag in hand, Chloe was left with more nervous energy than anything else. Deciding to use it and what time she had remaining for good, she spent the next few minutes trying to convince herself to  _calm down_ as she cleaned up after breakfast. While a simpler affair than usual, she still expected cleaning up to tire her out a little more and let her get some extra rest before her shift. Instead, out came the sweeper. She was through with both the living room and the hallway before she decided to continue, feeling that at least the actions distracted her from some of her worries, even if it did not manage to drain her of excess energy.

 

There was a  _tiny_ bit of work needed to make the room fit for vacuuming. Discarded rather haphazardly, a couple of sets of clothing needed dragged from various corners of the room and the bed to the laundry hamper. In the process of hunting down a missing shirt (which had somehow ended up just beneath the foot of the bed,) Chloe felt something sharp sting one finger of her hand. Looking more closely, small shards of glass were embedded in the carpet on her side of the bedroom.  _Lucky I didn’t cut myself last night. Good thing I’m already sweeping._ Chloe stood back to full and glanced about. Her ashtray was missing from her nightstand, which explained why it looked  _wrong_ somehow.  _Maybe she broke it yesterday and forgot to tell me? Someone clearly_ tried  _to clean it up._

 

Once the clothing was discarded it was a simple matter to prioritize sweeping up the tiny glass shards that bore some small danger to the soles of her feet over the rest of the carpet.  _Speaking of the nightstands,_ Chloe thought, turning toward Max’s.  _When did she start bringing that out?_ Her father’s old polaroid camera waited patiently on Max’s table, as if ready for use, for some purpose.  _Maybe this is good. Maybe she’s_ trying  _to get back to herself. I mean, she did take a few pictures at the beach._ Chloe nodded in answer to a question no one had asked and finished the job at hand. Still, even when the carpeted rooms of the apartment had been swept and Chloe had cleaned ash from the edge of the bathroom sink, she felt no closer to going back to sleep.

 

 _Fuck it,_  she decided as she tied her boots.  _Time to play ‘Ms. Assistant’ downstairs. Last time it took a little pressure off her. One of us deserves that._ The morning was preternaturally cool for a summer day but still nothing to write home about.  _If you had a home to write to,_ she chided herself, descending the steps carefully with a bag over her shoulder. Chloe was feeling extra careful about the bag, considering it contained, among other things, a gun she was not exactly registered to carry. It was her last resort  _fuck you_ if Calvin decided tonight was his night to make an aggressive move.  _I really wasn’t big on the idea, but Max makes a point. It’s not doing anyone any good sitting upstairs._ When she reached the studio door it opened easily, but as she opened it, the sign caught her eyes, still spun around to read, ‘closed.’

 

“You forgot something,” she told Max, who looked up from the first piece of a rather tall pile of mail clutched in her hands. With Max watching, Chloe turned the sign. She glanced back to see the woman looking vaguely sheepish, but eventually the photographer placed the rest of the mail down and resumed opening the envelope in her hand. Chloe took that as no objection to her presence. “Can’t do much business if your customers think you’re not open,” she taunted. “Or were you just looking to hide out down here all day and do  _nothing?”_ Max shook her head, setting the letter down.

 

“Guess I just forgot,” she replied. “I wasn’t thinking too much when I came down.” Max changed the subject rather quickly, which Chloe let slide, concerned that her teasing had been taken too seriously. “I really need to be better about this,” she waved a stack of envelopes once, disdainfully. Chloe settled into the chair across the desk and leaned back. “Oh,” Max started, looking back up at her.

 

“What?” she asked as she stowed her bag below.

 

“Nothing, it’s just that’s probably the first time you’ve ever sat in that chair the right way around.” Chloe raised an eyebrow at her, trying to imitate that same cocky, crooked grin Max had worn all morning. It didn’t settle as easily across her face and made her wonder if Max was faking it, too, after all.

 

“So sue me,” she finally, replied. “I decided I wanted  _back_ support today. I’m gonna be standing in front of a fuckin’ grill all night.” Max nodded as if to say, ‘fair enough,” and Chloe reached across the desk, grabbing an envelope. “Here, I’ll help you with these. If we work together we’ll get through ‘em faster. After all, I’m your assistant this morning, right?”

 

“In that case,” Max replied, “get to work. You’re late.”

 

“Smartass.”

  
  


The couple of hours spent at the studio were good, but in the end they did not provide much of a shield against the day to come. Chloe was only three hours into her shift when she realized that the night was progressing differently. The difference wasn’t in the coming and goings of customers, the amount of orders or the severity of the lunch and dinner rushes. It was instead emotional, both in herself and others. The most important difference was how much time Calvin was spending in the kitchen instead of in his office. He had not personally gone to the front of house at any time save to handle one screaming customer who was offended that their medium rare hamburger was ‘too red’ and even then his response to that had been to call Chloe out and make her apologize, adding a healthy supply of public verbal abuse on top of it.  

  
  


Otherwise, he was simply  _watching_ them all, riding them a little bit harder and being a little bit pushier than normal. This meant surprisingly little for Chloe’s actual work: after going off on her for the enjoyment of the upset customer, he seemed to be content to leave her alone mostly. Still, it did mean she was required to civilly reply to his every comment or question and that was often more than she thought she could or should have to bear. When not being ground down by his incessant downtalking, the others, both those working in the kitchen or simply coming to retrieve and deliver an order, were shooting her pitying glances.  _Everyone knows,_  she confirmed shortly after the lunch rush died uncharacteristically quick death.  _Not a chance in hell they don’t know._

  
  


Still, for approaching the end of her penultimate week, Chloe had somehow expected worse. After all, being torn down in front of strangers was fairly frequent when she first started the job and only fell off when Calvin first took his unpleasant interest. The man’s younger sibling had ‘quit’ without warning a week or so prior and with his departure, the entire kitchen staff was left without a buffer between them and their manager’s unnatural ire. So, when at the end of her shift she had only been brought to the verge of rage twice and no one on staff had been fired or written up for some imagined offense, Chloe was already very suspicious. His apparent need to comment on her staying inside for her break (“ _Oh, finally rid of a nasty habit, are we? About time you started giving some respect to the law.”_ ) added onto it.

  
  


As soon as she clocked out, Chloe retrieved her bag from its little hiding place, having stuffed it behind another co-worker’s when she was sure Calvin wasn’t looking. With most of her few friendly co-workers off or no longer working there, Chloe walked through the back door with her head low, not matching anyone’s eyes. It was better that than see and try to read into the looks on their faces too much. She was not even around the corner when the worst happened and she heard the back door open again behind her.  _Oh fuck, oh fuck._ She hefted her bag carefully up on her left shoulder and kept walking. It was dark at the side of the building but at least exposed partially to one road. Reaching her right hand across her as casually as she could, she unlatched her bag and rested the tips of her fingers just inside it, pulling the bag higher and closer.

  
  


Footsteps sounded clearly behind her, close behind her and she did not need to turn and look to know to whom they belonged. Moving faster, Chloe broke past the front of the building and found herself breaking into a run toward the road. She crossed a significant in a short amount of time before she felt a tug on her right elbow, one so insistent it took her balance from her and spun her firmly about. Calvin was holding tight to her elbow, and her shoulder ached from the tug. He did not speak at first, but his eyes told the story of what was going on in his mind. Hunger, mostly. She’d seen hunger like that before and she hated to place where, but had to admit it to herself. This was lust, the same kind she saw in Max’s eyes the night before and that very morning. It was, of course, colored by anger, by frustration.

  
  


“What in the name of fuck do you think you’re doing?” she asked him, jerking free, but almost throwing her face toward him with the shout. “I told you, didn’t I? Stay the  _fuck_ away from me.” If anything, the fire in Calvin’s eyes seemed to calm at her defiance. Not the lust, but the rage. Why that was his reaction, she could not begin to guess. There was certainly something wrong with the older man, beyond simply the state of his attitude and comparatively shabby dress.

  
  


“Chloe, chill out, get me?” He sounded like he was trying to be patronizing and soothing all at once, an odd combination which ultimately failed on all accounts when lined up beside the fact that he was looking at her like a cut of beef. “I just figured, you’re getting ready to up and leave us like the ungrateful prodigal son, so you might reconsider. Let’s hop into bed, do a little, you know, willy waggle and go about our night.” Despite the anger building up, she blinked slowly, processing the complete lack of understanding in the entire line. It was as if he was unaware she was leaving  _because_ of him. Apparently her pause was some kind of a signal because he drew close to her.

  
  


A natural, primal reaction took over and she turned, drawing her bag closer to her. Someone was moving on the opposite sidewalk but she couldn’t flag them down for attention, she wasn’t sure if they were even well visible to passersby on  _their_ side. Before she could sprint farther or figure out whether or not the two of them were noticed by whoever was coming their direction, his hand closed one more time around her arm and that was, as it happened, the straw that broke the camel’s back. Adrenaline surged and Chloe turned of her own accord. Her bag dropped to the ground. Most of the contents spilled out, leaving behind only one thing: the gun supplied no questions asked by a friend who knew she and Max were in danger.

  
  


Calvin took a couple steps back, his face transforming into a comical expression of surprise before he began to laugh. Derisive and dismissive, he did not so much as raise his hands as Chloe fought to steady her own, raising the weapon to point at his chest. Instead of backing away as she thought any sane man would do, he seemed to try to make himself appear larger, more imposing or perhaps simply more confident, as he was the type that treated confidence as godliness and assumed one could not be without the other. Finally, stifling his chuckles, he responded.

  
  


“Are you kidding me? Put that away you twat.” Dismissive, he no longer seemed to be trying to impress or woo. “We both know you haven’t got the lady balls for that. Besides, I’m just trying to be friendly. If that’s beyond you, that’s your problem, stupid lezzer bitch.”  _Something’s wrong,_  Chloe thought, and knew that it was not just a thought about her current situation, but about her life.  _Everything is_ wrong.

  
  


“Just go the fuck away,” Chloe told him, feeling a little more desperate. “I don’t want to do this but  _I will._ ” Were her arms strong and solid or shaking like jelly? Was she shivering because the night was cooler than expected or was her body failing her when she needed it to stand her ground the most? “Or fuck it,” she said, hoping to bluff her way out of the situation. “Try me.”  _I can do this. I will do this._  When he called her bluff it was all at once. For a moment he seemed like he would continue insulting her, continue trying to talk her down and into his bed simultaneously. Then, like a character out of some shitty martial arts film, Chloe saw the attack in his eyes. Before she even registered his upper body lunging, arms extending, Chloe knew the man in his unwashed manager’s uniform was going to grab for the gun.

  
  


Her finger pressed close against the trigger and then just as she decided that she could and would pull it, a stronger urge made her throw the weapon away as he turned and ran. Chloe might have gotten three or four lunging steps before her eyes came to focus on the individual who was approaching them moments before. Max stood opposite of her, dressed as she had been that morning and looking like death warmed over. Her eyes were wide and not entirely present, her mouth open in a scream that Chloe could not hear over what sounded like metal dragging on metal. When Max slammed her eyes shut, lowered her head and raised her right arm as if trying to grab her from several steps away, Chloe understood what was happening.

  
  


It was a half-second of awareness: the ground beneath her feet was different than she expected. It was neither parking lot nor sidewalk, it was road. The light that made Max so much more visible even here in the dead of night on the edge of the city came from an approaching car. The sound of screeching metal was brakes. That noise was replaced, oh-so briefly by something like the snap of an old, dry branch and then there was only pain.

  
  


Then there wasn’t. Then she wasn’t.


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Typical Disclaimer applies here. I have no claim over the subjects, the characters, the game they derive from. I seek to make no money and frankly don't expect to find any special recognition or proliferation for this fic. I do hope you enjoy, though.

 

* * *

 

Chapter Eleven

  


Throughout the morning, Chloe never commented on the lack of calls or walk-ins. It was probably for the best, as Max was completely taken aback by her choosing that day to come down to the studio. Her earlier confidence began to wane as soon as Chloe’s own attitude began to sour over breakfast, so that by the time Chloe finally left, Max was far less sure of herself than she had been upon waking up. _You know what? Fuck it,_ she thought as she packed up. _I’m not gonna go into this scared out of my mind. If I do Rachel could get the drop on me. Freak me out enough and she could just push me in front of a car or something like that. I need to stay calm._

  


It was easy to decide what to leave behind. Max stowed her laptop and most work related items under the desk, not intent on taking the time to secure them. Despite that earlier hurry, her fire was dimmed slightly. For this reason, Max was slowed a bit by the time she shut the apartment door behind her and glanced around the entrance and the attached living room. She did not immediately rush about her business, though she also did not think it was wise to kick off her shoes and get comfortable. Walking with oddly measured steps, Max turned 360 degrees, taking in the empty apartment.

  


**It’s absurd. For the first week we were here I couldn’t sleep unless I simply passed out from exhaustion. I think that’s half of why Chloe and I got so close so fast, she was the** _**only** _ **thing that could make me comfortable enough to sleep and she had so much patience through the nightmares: the Mark Jefferson nightmares, the David Madsen nightmares, the Nathan Prescott nightmares, the Victoria Chase nightmares and the Crumbling Blackwell Academy nightmares. Now, I can’t imagine that there’s a chance, however small, that I won’t come back here tonight. If Chloe or I don’t make it, I have no reason to come back here ever again. If she kills me, I’m gone. If she hurts or kills Chloe, I have no reason to stay.**

  


Max exhaled, unaware of when she started holding her breath and stalked from the room with a renewed sense of, well, not determination so much as impatience: she wanted the day started to be done. That impatience, though, was half of the reason she bothered coming back upstairs at all. Another long pause was taken as she passed into their bedroom. Chloe had clearly been busy that morning, as other than the unmade bed it looked much better than they had left it. In a way, Max would have felt more comforted to see the hastily discarded clothing from last night’s adventures hurled to every corner of the room. Instead, she was reminded of when they first moved in, before they had a bed and simply slept on the bedroom floor atop blankets.

  


When Max checked her phone, she had spent more time than she either desired or thought possible spacing out on the edge of the bedroom. A quick check of Chloe’s top drawer revealed that the cook had, mercifully, not chosen to leave the gun behind that day. She dug their stash free and sat down on the edge of the bed to roll herself a blunt. Max imagined that an outsider would see no urgency, no care in the action but a closer eye would reveal the shaking hands with which she did so. _I have to be calm. At least until I get there. Then, whatever happens, happens, because there’s no chance in hell that I’m going to see Rachel Amber again and keep my cool. If I have to lose it later, then I want to be able to fucking_ think _now._

  


**If there was some sort of grand plan, some sort of intelligence at work, then what does it think of me? Am I a part of everything it was planning or am I something else entirely? Is Chloe supposed to die here? Am I? What if we don’t? Oh, shit. What happened** _ **last**_ **time someone didn’t die when they were ‘supposed’ to? I don’t think a massive tornado would work here. This isn’t Arcadia Bay. So, what? An earthquake? Will the entire city go under? Am I about to make this choice between Chloe and I and a city again? Arcadia Bay had less than twelve-hundred people. How big is LA, about four million? Does that even** _ **matter?**_ **Is this a number’s game?** **Can I make that decision? Then again, I don’t even know if that’s what’s gonna happen. I can’t know. None of it makes sense, there’s no rule book for this.**

  


Max took her third hard pull, holding her breath and closing her eyes before the smoke escaped in a slow, thin, steady stream. Disposing of all evidence of illegal doings was kind of costly, but their stash went down the toilet. If she died and Chloe lived she was not about to let any kind of investigation turn Chloe’s life on its head any more than was already coming. After burying the empty baggy in an old discarded box of her belongings, Max returned to the living room where she let her eyes wander over the rapidly aging television and their collection of pirated films. With one last look as she opened the front door, Max said a hopefully short-term goodbye to her home, accepting that she might lose this one as she had the last three in very short order. _At least I won’t have to take these stairs anymore,_ she added, admitting to herself that she had never trusted the old wood very much. If there was any air she trusted to rot wood, damp and salty was a good bet.

  


The resulting bus ride was not the hell it might have been had she not taken the time to bake. Not that it was any less crowded or hectic, but in her prior state every jostling would have been a potential assault, every accidental impact with a stranger, potentially Rachel’s killing blow. Now she could just write it off as the annoyance of a crowded city bus on the edge of a big city. There was not much more than two or three blocks to go before she saw the first thing of note. The alleyway containing what she now thought of as a mural to Chloe’s grief had had some work done. Where a yellowed wall covered in graffiti existed before, it was now a fresh coat of white. Drawing close, Max pressed two fingers to the paint to test how dry it was. Judging by the tacky feeling of the wall, someone had done this less than twenty-four hours prior. _Chloe’s seen this,_ she thought, nodding to herself.

  


Eventually she pulled to a stop across the street from the hotel in question. Hotel De Sommeil (an unimaginative name if she had ever heard one) stood six floors high and was, by the design of the windows and the way the area around it was kept, supposed to look very sleek and modern. It fell rather short of this goal, but even still its position on the edge of LA allowed it to be a desirable enough location for people who could not especially afford a luxurious suite elsewhere. Maybe the golden-tan color of the building was supposed to subconsciously attract sunbathers. Max laughed at the idea and then, glancing once around herself at the now significantly thinned crowd, she pondered what to do. A few doorways down there was a cafe that only had one or two people sitting inside of it. Most of the rest of the street was empty or offices for a law firm.

  


**If I was Rachel Amber, where would I be hiding? Or maybe that’s it: maybe I wouldn’t be hiding at all. If I had money, connections and I wanted to fuck people up, I’d be in a hotel room. I’d know that I could walk through the hotel lobby to the restaurant and never be seen from the outside. What then? Walk into the back and try to convince Chloe to leave? Shank her with a kitchen knife if she wouldn’t? Whatever. I’ll try that idea first. If she’s got a room, I want to know about it.**

  


Max did her best to put on a ‘helpless, distraught woman’ tone when she came to the attention of the older lady behind the desk. At first, the woman fixed a dark eye and one well kept, long arched eyebrow on her. Max understood that she was dressed very casually, not quite as a tourist but not quite like any sort of person who would likely be able to afford a hotel there. She lead in, stuttering slightly, as if uncertain and then tried her damnedest to be seen as a damsel in distress. Maybe there would be just enough compassion from this pale-haired stranger to find out what she wanted to know.

  


“S-sorry to bother you, but I was supposed to be meeting my cousin over there for lunch,” she gestured toward the attached restaurant. “But, I haven’t heard from her. She was supposed to be in town by now. I’m just a little concerned.” The woman’s face remained mostly impassive, unchanging. Considering that Max reasoned that they would not easily give up information about their clients, this was not necessarily good news. She had to tread softly here. “Can you just tell me if she’s checked in, please? I just want to make sure she’s o-okay.” _That’s right,_ Max thought, mentally preening as the woman’s facade cracked just slightly. _Take the bait. I’m just a stupid person who doesn’t know how to help myself from imagining the worst case scenario._

  


“Sure,” she said, mixing some form of patience with the ‘customer service’ voice. “If you can tell me your cousin’s name I’ll see if she’s checked in.” Whether or not they really were dissuaded from giving out any information about customers, she had a conspiratorial tone as she added the last. Privately, Max thought it was for show but she wasn’t about to cast any derision on the woman helping her, not even to herself.

  


“Her name’s Rachel, Rachel Amber.” Max paused, waiting. She forced herself to start breathing again over the next few seconds, as the woman punched in the name and squinted down at her screen. Finally, the employee looked up, confusion on her face. “She’s not in yet?”

  


“We don’t have anyone by that name in our system,” she said, slowly. There was no distrust yet, just genuine confusion. _Think, Max, think._ Max was mere seconds away from apologizing for wasting the employee’s (Carol, by the name on her tag) time when inspiration struck.

  


“I mean, I guess they could have registered under her husband’s name?” she made sure to sound doubtful, herself. “I mean they’re really only here because he has a business meeting or something.” _Pretend to be empty-headed and she’ll just take pity._ “Maybe look for someone named Prospero?” _That’s something some pretentious theater kid with money would do if she wanted to hide, right? The Tempest can kiss my ass._ There was a moment in which she thought the odd name was going to make the woman question the entire exchange and have her escorted unceremoniously from the building, before Carol turned her wisened face down toward her monitor and began to type. In the end, though, she came back with the same result.

  


“I’m sorry, maybe you’ve got the wrong hotel?” she asked by way of offering. Max made sure to thank her profusely and imply that _maybe_ she was at a nearby hotel and wanted to meet at their restaurant because it was _so nice,_ and maybe Max had just gotten mixed up. When she said her goodbyes she felt pressured to keep up the facade. _I might as well go to the restaurant. I’ll get lunch and see if Rachel’s lurking around inside. I mean, it’s already noon. If she’s stupid enough to try something in the restaurant, she’ll be in there by now, right? I don’t think she would, but what if?_ Considering that it already fit with her cover story, Max adjusted the bag over her shoulder and walked along a white and blue tiled corridor connecting the lobby and the attached restaurant which did not look at all look like it should be attached to some grand, upscale hotel.

  


Two or three waitresses hurried to and from the back as Max paused by a podium. They were all around her own age or just slightly older and dressed in the same uniform that Chloe left the house with each day: a pale dress shirt and dark slacks. They didn’t have Chloe’s signature boots, but Max figured that that wouldn’t be allowed anyway with people working what Chloe referred to as “Front of House.” Unsurprisingly, but still a bit of a relief, Max saw no sign of either Chloe, who should be in the back, nor her highly problematic manager. In Max’s more paranoid, conspiracy-oriented moments, she still wondered if Chloe getting shit from the man wasn’t part of Rachel’s overall plan somehow. Everything felt interconnected lately.

  


“Oh, thanks for waiting,” greeted an approaching waitress. Her name tag was bright and clear to see from even a few steps away, bearing the name: Leila. “How many people?” she asked, carefully.

  


“Two,” Max replied, then, struck with inspiration, she added, “Oh, but my cousin’s a little anxious outside. If you have anywhere kind of off to one side, that would help a lot.” Leila didn’t miss a beat, heck, there wasn’t even a look of contemplation on her face before she responded that Max could follow her. In the interim, Max looked around. There wasn’t really anywhere out of the way in the restaurant. It wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination and there weren’t many unobstructed views of the dining area from the long, polished wooden bar at the back. Thankfully, the kitchen was hidden behind a dark double door on the other side of the room.

  


Max was sat against one wall, closer to the bar than she might have liked. Still, it had the added bonus of making it hard to see her from the ktichen doors should they swing open at moment when Chloe was near them for some reason or other. _I will not have her see me before I know what Rachel’s plan is._ Her stomach rumbled as they passed by a table where a rather pretentiously dressed couple who smacked of ‘faux money’ sat. The woman was scrunching her nose at their appetizers as her husband rambled about something Max couldn’t quite place between sips of a pale looking beer.

  


“I think,” Max started, “I might be a little too hungry to wait on her right now. Is it possible I could go ahead and order in a moment?” Leila, who looked younger than most of her fellow waitresses, seemed a bit relieved. Max could imagine that as annoying as it would be to balance a lot of orders just before the lunch rush (there was already a couple waiting by the podium Max had just been led by) it was probably more annoying to have to remember which tables were taking ages to order.

  


“Sure, hon,” she replied, placing a menu in front of Max. “I’ll give you a minute to do that. In the meantime, what would you like to drink?” _Why does every waitress today try that ‘oh dear what can I get you’ southern belle act? Even Joyce tried it. I bet it says something about what we find comforting._ “We’ve got coke products,” she offered.

  


“A coke’s fine,” Max said, trying to offer a reassuring smile. Anything to not contribute to the _hell_ that working at this place must be for someone she had no reason to assume was anything other than a decent human being. She waited until Leila set off for some distant corner of the restaurant and opened her menu, determined to pick something that wouldn’t exactly scream ‘ _Max’_ to Chloe as orders came in. _That basically just means no middle of the day pancakes, so I’m fine there._ As her eyes traced down the menu she grimaced, agreeing privately with Chloe’s assessment that the place was overpriced and pretentious. There wasn’t much art on the walls, but what there was had absolutely no bearing on a restaurant much less theirs specifically and was probably a reproduction of some unknown painter. As for the carpet, it looked like it was stolen from a movie theater that was going out of business, so Max wrote it off as cheap.

  


While she waited for Leila’s return, Max looked once more over the people in the dining area. There was no sign of Rachel there, either. With within at least well enough covered, Max could have left. Still, her stomach had been growling earlier and she _was_ in a restaurant on precisely the kind of day to give zero fucks about how overpriced the food was. In the end when Leila returned she ordered what amounted to a cheeseburger and potato wedges, certainly nothing that fit the high-class atmosphere the employees seemed to have been instructed to pretend the place had. The blonde taking her order was not the pretentious type either, and she vanished from the table with a friendly enough promise to put it in for her and then, mercifully, Max was alone with her thoughts.

  


**I need to focus on what to do if I fuck up. If it’s something small or if it’s something I see, I can just rewind. I’ve always been able to just rewind a few seconds, a few minutes. If it’s something big though? If I miss it and don’t find out until a couple minutes later or worse, I’ll need to be able to go back farther. As far as I know that means I need a good picture. I’m not sure I have anything else. I mean, if photos** _**of** _ **me work, there are a couple pictures from assholes in Seattle that’ll work. I can’t really risk it on an** _**if** _ **though. I’m not going to risk anything when it comes to Chloe.**

  


Thankfully, Max had prepared. Quietly, Max opened the bag beside her. It was silly, but she took care to avoid the sound of Velcro in the restaurant. It wasn’t as if she was worried about offending anything, especially not the woman three tables over who was now looking dubious at her drink as if it was about to jump up and bite her on the nose. Max dug into the bag. It was best to review the photos now, because when the time came she did not want to have to fuck with finding the right picture. Worse than that, she wasn’t sure if digital pictures even worked with her ability. Worse case scenario, though, was that it would be an unpleasant few hours while she sought out a place that could print the photo for her.

  


When finally Max’s hand closed around something camera-like and pulled it out, she felt cool as she took the sight in. Instead of her rather expensive digital camera, what she fished from the bag was about the right size if not somehow bulkier and of the wrong exact shape. When she pulled the camera free, it was very clearly William Price’s old polaroid camera. _What the fuck?_ Max couldn’t help but think. _Where did this even come from? It should be in burnt pieces under a bunker in Arcadia Bay._ Try as she might she could come up with neither a reason for the camera’s reappearance nor for it replacing what should be a more modern digital camera that she was _sure_ she packed away that morning.

  


_Well,_ Max thought as she pulled the camera free. _If I don’t have the beach, then I at least have this._ She raised the camera to her eye and framed the kitchen doors in her viewfinder. Exhaling so as to still herself, Max took the photo and waited patiently for the picture to develop. _There, I have one good, easy shot at doing this over._ In that moment, she half expected Rachel to instantly appear out of the ephemera. Instead, nothing changed, beyond the overdressed woman a few tables over shooting her a look before beginning to complain about the ‘riff raff they let in here.’ _Riff_ _R_ _aff? What is she from, the sixties?_

  


Max was, overall too upset to bother being offended by the woman. _Pretense is as pretense does._ She was still examining the photograph, to be sure it was clear enough to at least make out the picture of the kitchen doors when Leila returned with her meal. Almost simultaneously, the couple a few tables away was distracted from her apparently ‘uncouth’ appearance by the arrival of their own food. Max was relieved and for her part was only left about eight more minutes of turning her head from side to side and seeing no sign of Rachel Amber or anyone who looked vaguely threatening. She took a bite of her burger and tried to find it tasty and satisfying. _Nothing doing,_ Max thought. _Not even Chloe’s cooking. I just want today to be over._ She was taking her second bite when the woman a few tables over reached a fevered pitch with her complaining and began to demand that one of the other waitresses got the manager.

  


As far as Max could tell, she was upset that her burger was underdone and despite the young waitresses’ attempts to explain that it was precisely how it was ordered, this thirty-something in the expensive clothing was having none of it. Eventually, the waitress disappeared to get her manager and while Max listened to the customer’s “Well, I never”s and “In my day”s, she felt a bundle of nerves building in her stomach. _This is it. I’ll get a chance to see this Calvin mother fucker._ As the doors to the kitchen swung back open, impressively, her breath caught.

  


The man who emerged from behind the doors looked nothing like a person she would consider worth her anxiety. For a man of his age he was rather rotund and he made no attempt to look either like a ‘working man’ or like some sort of noble. His clothing was wrinkled and in a state of some disarray, kind of dirty but it did not look as if he had been working at a stove or a pot or a grill. Instead, he might have been outside. More than that, his lightly lined face was trying desperately to turn up into an understanding smile but instead echoed the look of a child caught at something naughty. His accent was clear and thick and exaggerated.

  


“Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?” Max couldn’t help as she packed her camera and the photo back up but to observe, unable to stop watching Calvin. At one point, her attempt to take a bite ended in the edge of a burger bouncing off the bottom of her chin. It was mostly verbal, but the exchange between the manager and his customer seemed almost like a dance. She moved carefully, though none-too-subtly. For his part, he was blunt, brutish and ultimately subservient. Max shivered at his voice. Both of them knew that the woman was full of shit, that there was nothing wrong with her burger according to the order she placed, but she was going to make a scene until he did something for her. _Probably gives her free food._ “Well,” he started, in this tutting, mother hen kind of tone. “That’s _obviously_ unacceptable.” Then, the man turned, snapping his fingers and pointing toward the waitress in charge of the table as if she were a dog he was calling. “You, go get Chloe. Tell her to get up here sharpish, you understand, lass? None of her backtalk.”

  


Now came the _real_ panic. If Chloe came out of the kitchen and saw her just sitting there (and there was no way she wouldn’t not even if she knew she was walking over to be chewed out) she would have several questions. To top it all off she might get an idea that there was _something_ wrong. Max was confident in her ability to convince strangers that she was firmly in control of herself but not so much Chloe. Everything she did or saw or even thought seemed to have an edge to it, that of an individual trying desperately to keep in control. _Shit, I can’t let her see me._ The doors to the kitchen began to open. Pretending she had lost a fork under the table, Max dropped quickly, and was, after a moment, on her knees under the table.

  


“Well,” Calvin started. “What have you got to say for yourself? This burger’s undercooked.” After a pause, during which she assumed her pulled aside the bun, he added, “Look at it, you dumb sod, it’s practically mooing.” A couple of seconds of silence passed during which Max, on the floor, clenched her eyes shut.

  


“Well,” Chloe started from a table over. She seemed to be speaking with care even if Max could swear she heard aggravation in the woman’s voice. “I was told to cook a medium-rare burger, so that’s what I made.”

  


“Now see here,” the woman complaining cried, cutting across the end of Chloe’s statement. “I ordered a medium cheeseburger. A _medium_ cheese burger. If you can’t handle something so basic, why are you working here?”

  


“That’s a good question,” Calvin almost sang. _You’re not using a fork,_ Max reminded herself. _You’re eating a cheeseburger. There’s nothing to pretend is down here._ “What do you think you’re doing if you can’t cook something so simple?” There was a long pause, and Max knew that it was longer for her and for Chloe. She couldn’t see the woman and _prayed_ Chloe couldn’t see her but her heart ached for her all the same.

  


“I-I don’t know. I’m so, so sorry.” Chloe was trying her best to appear genuinely apologetic but Max could hear the frustration in her voice.

  


“Listen here, young lady. If you don’t shape up in short order, you’ll be shipping out sooner than you think!” Calvin’s voice rose. “One more complaint like this and you’ll be on your behind on the sidewalk, savvy, little miss?” Max closed her fists tight, the urge to rise up and hurl insult after insult at the scumbag harassing her girlfriend getting stronger. At this angle, Max could quite literally see nothing more than their ankles. It was hard to spot the reactions of the woman she loved, except that Chloe seemed to shift slightly on the balls of her feet, as if unwilling to give away any overt shuffling from foot to foot, but quite aggravated.

  


“I said,” the man shot, emphatically, “do you understand me, girl?” Max considered whether the preferred move would be to kick him in the testicles or punch him in his frail looking, crooked nose

  


“Yes sir,” Chloe responded in a long-suffering tone. Max calmed down. After a few seconds of silence, Chloe’s feet turned and stalked back off toward the kitchen. Max watched those combat boots go. Eventually the soft shudder of the doors was audible enough that she lifted her head and climbed up into a sitting position from beneath the table. She was just about capable of feeling foolish about it all as someone shifted their position just to her side. Max looked up, half expecting to see Rachel Amber smirking down at her. Instead, his fact slightly more lined than she expected, Calvin was looking dispassionately at her. He seemed to be trying most desperately to give off the vibe of a worried, doting father almost, but it rang hollow.

  


“Hello,” the man started, in this faux caring voice that seemed to say, ‘Come now, you can trust me.’ “I’m terribly sorry if that upset you,” his voice dropped low and Calvin leaned in. _He’s trying to seem flirty,_ Max realized, dazed in a way that made her not want to chuckle at the absurdity so much as scream with laughter. _That stupid fuck,_ she thought, _if Rachel showed up right now and kicked his teeth in for treating Chloe like shit, I would_ cheer _for her like I was on the high school cheer squad and she was the quarterback that was gunning for half my squad._ The surface-deep amusement passed as he asked what he could do to improve her evening.

  


“Honestly,” she replied effecting a worried, caring tone. “I’m just fine. I’ll be great with a box to carry this home in.” Max gestured toward the sandwich. It wasn’t that she was unable to finish it but somehow she no longer expected to see Rachel stalking into the dining room. _And if I have to hear one more rant out of this stupid pig’s mouth, I’ll stuff an apple in it and shove a spit up his ass._ Max realized she was frustrated, but there was little _stopping_ the feeling. Instead, he seemed to take her at her word and with an exaggerated bow he walked away. Max watched him wave down Leila and pass on her request for a box.

  


Max was holding the Styrofoam box even as she stepped out of the restaurant into the parking lot. It was barely one in the afternoon which meant Chloe wasn’t even on break. _I’ve got hours still,_ she realized as she reached the sidewalk. _If they catch me lounging about outside the hotel they’ll call someone, right? I need to find somewhere to hide._ There weren’t exactly a ton of options open to her, either. _Okay, so I can’t stay nearby. But I’m not the only one. Rachel’s not hiding close like I thought she would._ The summer sun was bearing brutally down upon Max as she raised her hand to her eyes and looked about. No sign of Rachel Amber was to be found. _She’s got to be around watching from a distance and if that’s the case,_ Max’s eyes landed in desperate on the cafe down the street. She started to walk with some determination.

  


**Where the** _**fuck** _ **is she? She talked such a big game. What was she planning? Okay, calm down, think. She’s not going to walk into the kitchen and stab Chloe and even if she does, I’ll see ambulances and rewind to the point that I took this picture. I just need to watch the way to the front door and if I can do that I’ll see her coming. I can rush in after her. I am** _**sure** _ **she’s around here somewhere. She promised it would be either me or Chloe if I wasn’t gone by the time Chloe woke up this morning. Now we’re both here. She can do anything else she can imagine and it won’t help. If she burnt down the apartment we’d just take a bus to Seattle tonight. If she fucked up my studio, I’d close it a couple days. She has to step up and do something and I need to be ready to see it.**

  


Max settled into a seat at the cafe just down the street from Hotel De Sommeil. There weren’t any waiters there, just a man at the counter who began to look askance at her when she did not immediately order something and instead picked at the burger in her container while staring out of the window at passersby. Eventually, as the hours passed, Max ordered a coffee to avoid being removed and hopefully lessen the stares being sent her way and found that as her high was lost to echoes, the caffeine did a fair job at focusing her even if it did make her especially paranoid about every young brunette that passed in front of the door or windows to the cafe. Max did not let anyone pass without her noticing.

  


At one point, as the sky was beginning to darken and what she would expect to be the day’s dinner rush began to die down, Max was approached. She glanced up at the barista but he didn’t look ready to chase her off, instead, as the man sat a fresh cup in a to-go cup down beside her, he looked almost apologetic.

  


“Someone stand you up?” he asked, in surprisingly gentle tones. Max laughed despite herself and this stranger did not really react.

  


“Something like that,” she said, reaching out for the coffee. “I was about to give up, anyway.”   
  
“I thought so,” he replied, sounding a bit relieved at her tone. “That one’s on the house.” Max did not feel pressured by the gesture but all the same left a tip with what little cash she had on her. _It’s time to get to the hotel. Chloe will be getting out at any moment, now._ Glancing at her phone showed no new calls but the time it displayed did read as about the time she usually left the hotel. When Max waved a quiet goodbye to the barista, she stepped out intent on making a slow, careful trip to the hotel, head turning side to side to keep an eye out for Rachel sneaking up on her. To that end she was caught off guard when, from just to her right, Rachel, whom she had apparently missed when she first walked out of the cafe, spoke.

  


“Hey, Max.” Her tone was different. It was not friendly, nor kind, but it was entirely calm. Max stumbled backward and began to back away from Rachel. “Oh, calm down.” The woman was dressed very unusually, in a solid gray dress from top to bottom, one which trailed low to the ground and did not seem to fit her at all. _In fact,_ Max thought, _it almost looks like wool._ “It’s alright, Max. Everything I was going to do to you, I’ve already done.” Rachel stopped leaning against the wall beside the door and stood up. “It’s over, Max. While you were playing super spy or whatever, I was just waiting. Now it’s done. I win.”

  


Many times in the past when Rachel made a statement like this, Max had been struck by a feeling, a surety that her statement was law, the kind of law that governed the universe. This final assertion of Rachel’s, that she had already won, was one such statement. It was one such law of the universe. _How? When? I have to go, I have to find Chloe._ Max did not hesitate, she broke into a run. From the cafe, the front of the hotel was visible but the entrance to the restaurant was still not. Still, if something horrible had happened to Chloe, wouldn’t she have seen an ambulance? Police? Max wasn’t sure if Rachel was following her, but her footfalls hurried across uneven sidewalks hopefully quickly enough Rachel could not easily keep up.

  


As she got closer, two forms became visible, if only barely, by the ambient light of the parking lot. Sure enough, one was just the right size and shape to be Chloe. The other was definitely taller, masculine, larger in height and wider around. She did not have to see him clearly to know that the unpleasant man who had been harassing Chloe, Calvin, was chasing her now toward the front of the parking lot. Max tried to call out, but she was winded as she slowed down, approaching the road opposite of them. Suddenly, the two forms drew close and Chloe dropped her bag.   
  


Max was able to make out the gun in Chloe’s hand, as the two had stopped in a patch of some light. Beside Max, Rachel had caught up and was humming to herself, calmly. Max glanced once at her and dry heaved immediately, looking at mottled gray skin and eyes like the _interstella_ , the darkness between stars. _Not human,_ Max thought again, almost sure of it this time. She turned back as Chloe cried out. The gun glinted under the parking light as it flew through the air and Chloe sprinted, full tilt toward Max and toward Rachel. Then, Chloe’s eyes opened wide and Max imagined the feeling Chloe must have as she saw the two of them standing there, Max terrified and dumbfounded, Rachel inhuman and laughing, cheering at her victory. This was nothing like the scenarios Max had anticipated. The car mere feet from Chloe slammed its brakes, and Max knew it was not going to be enough.

  


_Whatever you are, fuck you, Rachel Amber._ Max slammed her eyes shut and raised her right hand. She blocked out the sound of the unnaturally wet thud on metal, or the driver’s cursing. The sensation of running while standing still pushed across her, and she closed her hand around nothing, and yet around that sensation too. The feeling burned the palm of her hand like a rope being rapidly pulled through her grasp. She felt her extremities grow cold and numb and finally the world lost sense and consistency. If she focused, she could hear the driver’s cries again, she could hear the thud, then Chloe’s footsteps and, with startling accuracy this time, the sound of Chloe shouting at Calvin.

  


When Max lowered her arm and opened her eyes, Rachel was still beside her, which made no sense. _What does make sense?_ Across the road, Chloe turned and bolted away from Calvin and he reached out, pulling her back around. Max broke into a sprint. It happened as if in slow motion. Chloe’s bag dropped as Max hit the edge of the parking lot. The cook’s right hand rose, to bring the gun up to the chest of the stunned man who was grabbing at her. Max smacked that right hand hard and the gun collapsed to the ground as she slammed her entire weight into Chloe.

  


The taller, lankier woman stumbled and fell on her ass, but Max heard that more than saw it. Dumbfounded, Calvin’s eyes widened in recognition of her from the restaurant that afternoon. Then they widened more in pain, as the palm of Max’s hand struck and very clearly broke his nose. The snap of the cartilage under her hand did not feel as unnatural as she expected. _She’s alive,_ Max thought, staring wildly at Chloe. Rachel stood a few steps behind her as Calvin reeled and cursed. Max reached down into her own bag, looking for her mace. Instead, when she brought her hand back out, she held a small knife that, as far as she knew, should have been hidden on Chloe’s nightstand.

  


Chloe called her name and Rachel echoed her in a mocking, derisive tone, though with a genderless, ageless voice. Max took a step forward and reached up, pressing the knife hard against Calvin’s throat. A thin line of blood welled up and he recoiled away. A thrill rose in Max’s stomach, a smile split her face. She spun about to look past Chloe’s shoulder, to Rachel’s inhuman, disfigured face. Rachel was baring her shark-teeth in rage. Max swung the blade around and then pointed it back at Calvin, who looked like he was trying to be a poor imitation of Rachel’s fury.

  


“If you want to keep the _hand_ you touched her with or the tongue you spoke to her with, you will go inside, quit your job and never come near her again.” Max spoke, trying to make her word law as Rachel was so easily able to do. For a moment, the argument on Calvin’s face was clearer than Chloe’s voice calling her name again and Rachel’s subsequent mockery. Then, Calvin spun on the spot and sprinted, bleeding profusely from the nose, into the night. Max spun on the spot. Chloe was up, her hands raised as if to calm her and was trying to approach.

  


“Neither of you mother fuckers will _ever_ touch Chloe again. Do you understand me?” Max locked eyes with the void pools that were Rachel’s. She did not know what Rachel had done to herself, but she did not care. “Do you get me!?”

  


“Neither?” Chloe asked. “There’s no one else here, Max. We’re alone. He’s gone. I’m safe. Thank you.” Max heard Chloe’s desperation, her fear, her fear of Max specifically. It hurt but that hurt barely registered under her confusion: how had Chloe not seen Rachel already? Had she not looked _right_ behind her? Had she not heard the woman’s voice?

  


“No one?” Max asked. “She’s there,” Max pointed the knife at Rachel again. “She’s right there. Rachel did _all_ of this. She wrecked the shop. She called us and threatened us. She threatened _you,_ Chloe.” Chloe looked back over her shoulder and then to Max. Max waited to see realization and recognition, maybe even devastation in her eyes. Instead, she was simply more worried. Max dropped the knife to the ground, which Chloe recovered as she had the gun. Rachel walked past her, toward Max. “I don’t get it. She’s- she’s right there.”

  


“There’s no one there,” Chloe told her, approaching, she said something else but it was lost under her heartbeat and the voice of this being Chloe could not see. Mere inches away, Rachel drew even to Max.

  


“There’s no one there,” Rachel agreed. Chloe reached out, making Max jump as she laid a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Do you understand yet? I get you all _in the end._ I will make fools of all of you, of everyone you love. Including Chloe Price.”

  


“What, what are you?”

  


“Sometimes time is a storm on the horizon, ready to destroy a city,” Not Rachel chuckled, a humorless, lifeless sound. “And I wonder where I got the idea for that?” Max shook her head, hard as the realization hit. She swallowed. “Well, either way, sometimes it’s a storm on the horizon. Other times, it’s a mind waiting to tear into itself, to cannibalize repressed memories and trauma and make something else, something new.” Chloe was speaking but only Not Rachel could be heard. “I promised you, Max Caulfield. Cross me and you’ll have a thousand deaths. A thousand little deaths, those of the mind. You took from me. Now I take back. Because now I want _you.”_

  


Max shook her head. This was a lie, it was all a lie. Rachel was toying with her, Rachel was fooling Chloe somehow. At any moment Rachel would turn and strike. One of them, maybe even Chloe would die.

  


**Absolutely not! Me for her!**

  


Max broke free of her girlfriend’s grasp and sprinted away.

  


Chloe, for her part, did not see Max’s break for the road coming. She was trying to hear, trying to listen to the conversation Max was having with someone who existed, as far as she could tell, only in Max’s head. When the photographer shrugged her hand off with rather unusual strength, Chloe was taken aback. It was clear, though, with the approaching car, what Max was trying to do. Chloe’s legs were longer and, despite some lung capacity concerns, she knew she was quicker, she knew she could help. For a moment, Max was in the center of the road, framed grotesquely by approaching headlights, her arms wide and eyes shut. Then, Chloe hit her like the car would not be able to do and with strength she had not expected, pulled Max from the ground and carried her across to the sidewalk. The pair collapsed in a jumble of limbs and bags to the to the ground, momentarily safe. Something cracked against the stone that might have been a phone or a can of mace. Chloe wasn’t sure. She did not care. Max struggled beneath her, but Chloe was in more control, more aware as she pinned Max down to the cement.

  


“What are you fucking doing?” she asked. “What are you thinking?”

  


“You don’t get it. No! Let me go. It’s me or you, Rachel will kill you if I don’t go.” Max fought harder, smearing Calvin’s blood across Chloe’s chin as Chloe wrapped her arms around the woman and held her tight. “I can’t let her win. I can’t let her win.” Chloe had never heard such devastation in anyone’s voice before. It was hard to believe that a human being could feel that kind of pain and terror. This sound came from horror, from nightmarish twisting of fairy-tales. _No one I love should have to feel like this._ It was a selfish thought, in a way, but just as desperate as Max’s agony.

  


“Max,” Chloe replied. “Max, listen.” Mostly restrained by Chloe’s arms, Max grew still, though she was all wide eyes and flaring nostrils and Chloe felt certain that if she were left to her own devices she might do something desperate again. Her chest heaved unnaturally: she was on the edge of hyperventilating. _I have to say the right thing. I have to say the right thing. What is it?_ “I’m sorry you’re so scared, sweetie.” Slowly, carefully, before anyone could see them, Chloe started to rise. Cautiously, she pulled Max to her feet. “Rachel is dead, Max. You found her, remember? We found her.” Once Max seemed stable on her feet, Chloe tightened her grip, wrapping one arm around the woman. _No sirens. No one saw anything. No one called the police. I don’t think Calvin will._

  


“No!” Max said, her voice rising in volume and pitch. Chloe wrapped her up tight. “We found a body wrapped in plastic! It could have been anyone. Rachel could have put it there or-or Nathan could have. It doesn’t mean anything!” _If we haven’t drawn a crowd yet, her screaming about bodies sure will._

  


“Listen, Max,” Chloe said, trying to be soothing, trying not to sound so upset herself. After a second, they started to walk, though she kept hold of Max, who almost seemed to twitch with anxiety. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know.”

  


“Yes you were,” she replied, quickly, cutting her next statement off. “That’s when Jefferson shot you, that’s when- No, that doesn’t make any sense.” Max’s head shook, like she was trying to make reality fall into place. Chloe did not know how to help except to keep talking, though far more quietly than Max, who was still nearly yelling. They were passing a business, a cafe of some sort. Two or three people sat at tables outside and were staring, openly at Max. The good news was, her blood soaked hand was hidden as Chloe walked her past.

  


“I was there,” she muttered, “but not _me,_ me, remember?” Max did not speak a word, but a sound that was either a moan of frustration or a grunt of agreement came. Chloe was starting to have trouble knowing the difference. “Max?”

  


“What?” the question was pained, or it was pain.

  


“I’m going to need you to try to stay calm, try not to talk too loudly.”

  


“She could hear. She’s always following us.” Chloe looked up. The bus stop was feet away now and the next bus was not far off. _I need her to stay quiet, but I won’t feed into her hallucinations. That would be fucked up. It could hurt her worse._

  


“No,” Chloe told Max, “but people are looking. I want to get you home, safe and sound. Do you understand?” Max nodded, lifelessly. “Good,” she said as she lowered the woman beside her to the seat. _I’m not coming back to this fucking restaurant. Besides, there’s no getting blood out of this shirt._ The thought was absurd and irrelevant but for some reason it rose to prominence. She didn’t give a _damn_ about the old dress shirt or even the scuffs in the boots she actually cared for. So why was her brain throwing such details at her? “Now listen. You and I told David where to find Rachel. He told the police and they took down the information. Do you remember?” Max shook her head no, then nodded, yes.

  


“That’s okay,” Chloe continued. “Later, during clean up after the storm, they dug her up. Her aunt identified her body. We read about it, remember?” This time, Max nodded emphatically. She opened her mouth as if to argue. “It’s going to be alright, Max.” _We get home. I’ll call Carrie, then I’ll call Frank’s partner. He’ll know where to take her. Tomorrow, she’s got to go to someone who can help. Until then, I’ll watch her._

  


Within a couple of hours, Max was asleep on the couch in their living room. The television was showing old re-runs of a sitcom and Chloe was pacing. Having left a message for Frank’s partner, Marcus, Chloe was now faced with calling Max’s parents. Occasionally her eyes landed on the kitchen and she became aware all over again that neither she nor Max had likely eaten in hours, but waking Max up now meant potentially putting her in danger all over again.

  


_I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets help,_ Chloe thought. Feet away, Max cried out in her sleep and Chloe turned, feeling her adrenaline spike slightly. _It’s no more than she’d do for me._ Chloe pulled a kitchen chair into the living room and set it down near the couch. There was no way she was going to let herself sleep and moving Max to the bed was not an option. _In the interim, I have to get rid of some things. Until I know Max is safe._ The first order of business though, was one that both she and her girlfriend had gotten used to in the last few months. Whatever the morning brought, wherever they had to go and whatever was required of them, it was going to be hard. Neither of them were going to be ready to face it on an empty stomach.

* * *

 

Author’s Note: Well, that’s the end of that. It’s been a bit of a ride, and I appreciate anyone who took it with me. This originally started out as a combination between a nagging idea and a method of purging unpleasant emotions I was (and am, still) dealing with. These last two chapters have been interesting to write, as I imagined Max at the height of a crisis of loyalty, personal insecurity and morality. The battles in the foreground of her mind have been ugly, but it's the battles in the background I've tried to portray in her unconscious decision making. This has not been my best writing, especially considering I have not taken the time to do much editing so far. It has been very much like a skeleton of a story at times. I’ve enjoyed it, though and I hope others have too. Life is Strange is an amazing game series and I’m not done playing around in this universe yet. I’m not even done messing with the games yet. I hope you all aren’t, either.


End file.
